Just Perfect
by Shai Nevermore
Summary: If you are bitter and jaded because you're talentless and unattractive, don't bother reading my story. This is about me, after all. It always is. Great, right? Wrong. I learned the hard way that that being...well, perfect...can get you in a lot of trouble
1. I Did Something Dumb

A/N: This story is COMPLETE! It's all set and ready to go and I can update as soon as I have reviews. Hint hint Review!

My life used to be perfect. No, really—I'm not exaggerating. I, Katerina Ariadne Metaxas, was the only child of wealthy businessman Kostantinos Metaxas and we lived in a big, beautiful house in a ritzy neighborhood complete with a cook/housekeeper and I went to the most prestigious private school in the area.

I was (and still am, I would like to think) rather good looking and in great shape. I looked, if I do say so myself (and I do), great in anything from my school uniform to a bikini. I had smooth dark skin, full lips, long, curly dark hair and big hazel eyes that were more green than brown and set above high cheekbones—a gift from my Greek father, of course. Thankfully, however, I had my mother's nose (my dad's hooked, hawk-like nose looked dashing on him but would have made me look like a parrot). In addition to his good looks, my dad gave me pretty much any thing else I wanted and in all, life was just dandy.

I know you're waiting for the catch here. You're waiting for the 'but my life wasn't complete without love' or 'my father didn't have time for me' or 'the loss of my mother left a hole in my soul that had yet to be filled' or 'but I was fighting cancer, AIDS, and the common cold' or some other corny line, right? Well, sorry. There was nothing missing. I had a wonderful boyfriend named Jared, my father was always there for me, and our cook, Soula, had also been my nurse and was all the mother I could want. I was also, as I said, in great physical condition. So what's the catch?

There is no catch. My life was great and I loved it. I also worked my ass off to show my father how much I appreciated what he'd given me. I was at the top of my class, captain of the varsity soccer team and the swim team, president of the choir, county-record holder in three track and field events, secretary of the student council, vice president of our school's chapter of the National Honor Society, and an accomplished equestrienne. I spoke Greek like a native as a result of summers spent with my grandparents and fluent French, Spanish, and Italian as a result of many years of practice. I could play the piano and guitar and I planned to go to the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs at Princeton University.

Okay, this is all great, you're thinking. Beauty, brains, money, and talent—are you trying to rub it in my face? Why are you telling me this? I'm getting there. If you still think it's too good to be true, you're wrong. It was completely true—it just didn't last as long as I thought it would. Why? Now, here's the point I'm trying to make: things go wrong in life because you do something dumb. Sometimes it's not _completely _your fault—fate does throw you a curve ball now and then. But when you get right down to it, when something goes wrong, it's usually your fault one way or another. And here's the best part: the more you have, the more you lose when you do fuck up.

My life started to fall apart because I did something dumb. It wasn't incredibly dumb. It's not like I walked across a freeway with my eyes closed. It wasn't even significantly dumb. It was just your average, run-of-the-mill, dumb teenager sort of dumb. And that one dumb moment ruined my perfect life.

Jared and I were at the annual homecoming bonfire, laughing and roasting marshmallows. It was common for couples to slip off to the woods every now and then for a moment of privacy, but Jared and I never had. Why? Because I was a good girl. It had taken ages for Jared to even kiss me. But this once, this one time, I decided to throw all caution to the wind and have a good time.

So when Jared slipped his arm around my waist and nodded toward the trees, I grinned and kissed him to let him know I was game. He seemed startled at first—well, so was I, really—but then he grinned back and seized my hand, tugging me into the trees. I followed eagerly, feeling adventurous and bold. I ignored the little voice in my head that said my father wouldn't approve. When it persisted, I calmly told it to go to hell.

Rule number one, folks: be nice to your little voice. The little voice is your friend. And it's usually right, too. Anyway. Jared and I stumbled blindly through the trees, giggling like the pair of dumb teenagers that we were, and collapsed together in a grassy clearing. The events that followed I'd rather not commit to paper, if it's all the same to you. I was seventeen, he was eighteen, we were alone in the woods—you get the general idea. Before things could get _really_ exciting, however, I heard a noise that was definitely not coming from Jared.

"Jared, wait," I whispered, pulling away. He grunted and continued kissing me. I was fully prepared to forget the noise and focus on Jared, but the noise came again—closer, this time. "Jared, stop. I heard something."

"It's nothing, Ari." My friends called me Ari for my middle name, Ariadne. "Probably a bird or something."

"It's too big to be a bird," I said worriedly. "Maybe we should go back..."

"Ari, it's nothing," Jared said soothingly, and tried to kiss me again.

I turned my head and pulled away. Seeing it was useless, Jared sighed and sat up. I gratefully took the hand he offered me and held onto it when I was on my feet.

"Let's go back," I murmured nervously.

"Are you scared, baby?" he teased me.

"Yes," I simply.

Jared laughed and gave me a hug. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

I laughed a little sheepishly. Jared was the captain of the football team, over six feet and God only knew how many pounds of muscle. I honestly believed that he could protect me. And he probably could have, too. But when a shaft of moonlight illuminated the huge, shaggy beast standing with us in the clearing and glinted off of wet, gleaming fangs, the damned ninny screamed like a little girl and ran. My last thought before something immense hit me and I lost consciousness was, _what a fucking pus--_

I never finished that last thought—which is probably for the best. I came to in a hospital bed with my dad's anxious face hovering above me. I had a splitting headache and my right arm ached dully. I lifted my left hand instead and rubbed my eyes.

"Baba?" I mumbled (Baba is Greek for 'daddy' or 'dad'. Not a baby bottle. Just so you know). "What happened?"

"Thank God you're alright," my father breathed. "You don't remember?"

"I remember a—a dog or something—huge—and Jared ran--"

"Ah, yes," he said, beaming. "It was Jared who called the police. He probably saved your life."

I snorted and winced at the bolt of pain that shot through my head. "Is that what he's telling people?"

"Well, it's true," Baba said.

"He screamed like a baby and ran," I muttered mutinously. "Little rat."

Baba scowled. "He implied that he ran _after_--"

"No," I said through gritted teeth. My head was killing me. "Didn't even look back. Can I have an aspirin or something? I feel like someone's sawing my head open."

"I'll call the nurse," Baba assured me. "You have a concussion and that dog bit you—they've given you shots to prevent rabies and all that, so you'll be fine. Just--"

"Baba—aspirin!"

Baba obligingly scurried away and came back with a nurse. But no aspirin.

"The doctor thought it would be best if you didn't take any medication just yet," the nurse explained kindly, and gave me a glass of water. "Drinking water will help, though, and we can put some cold compresses on your forehead if you like."

"Yes, please," I said, as civilly as I could. "When can I go home?"

"You're free to go as soon as the doctor checks you over," the nurse said cheerfully. "Now that you're fully awake, I need to ask you some questions. You don't seem to have a serious concussion, but I've got to ask, just in case...now, then. What is your name?"

"Katerina Metaxas."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"What's your father's name?"

"Kostas." Seeing the nurse's eybrows shoot up, I sighed and elaborated, "Kostantinos Metaxas."

The nurse nodded and continued scribbling on her pad while I chugged the water and willed my headache to go away. The cold, wet cloth she laid across my forehead felt nice for about two seconds and then turned sort of warm but clammy at the same time. I shifted restlessly and looked around the room. It wasn't very nice. It was seriously like the doctor's office with a bed thrown in. I desperately wanted to go home and take a bubble bath and go to sleep in my own bed and in my own pajamas.

"Will the doctor see me soon?" I asked hopefully as the nurse turned to leave.

"He has just a few patients to see first, but it shouldn't take long," the nurse told me, and bustled off.

It soon became apparent that my definition of 'not long' and the nurse's differed somewhat. I was still lying in that lumpy, uncomfortable bed four hours and fifty three minutes later with a stack of magazines next to me. Some of them were Time magazines, but most of them were girly teen magazines. I know that they're evil and promote low self esteem and are a waste of paper, but man, are they addicting. Unfortunately, I finished the last one about an hour before the doctor showed up. My dad popped in now and again, but he had work to do.

So when the doctor finally decided to make an appearance, I was not in the best of moods. He was short and tubby, with white hair and a white beard and rosy cheeks. He looked like Santa Clause. He smiled cheerfully at me and, despite the fact that I had been sitting in that bed for nearly five hours and could no longer feel my rear end, I found it impossible not to smile back.

"Hello," he said. "My name is Dr. Stanley. And your name is Katerina, yes? Do you like Katie or Kat or something else, perhaps...?"

"Ari, actually," I said. Only my family and my Greek friends called me Katerina—Kahtia or Kahti for short. Seeing the doctor's quizzical expression, I explained, "My middle name is Ariadne."

"Ah, I see. So," he said briskly, peering into my eyes. "You passed Sally's examination, did you? Nothing too difficult, I hope?"

"Ah...no," I said uncertainly, not sure whether he was joking or not. I suddenly noticed a spider on my bedpost and was about to flick it away when Dr. Stanley reached over and picked up gently with a tissue and set it on the windowsill.

"They're helpful, you know," he said conversationally. "Catch mosquitoes and other pests. Now. You remember the EMTs and the ambulance, yes?"

Now that I thought about, it did remember a lot of noise and a period of extreme discomfort which must have been my ride in the ambulance.

"Yes."

"Good, good," the doctor said, and pulled a stool over. He gently took my right arm and began to unwrap it. "Now, Ari, I have to tell you something and, while I know you will not believe me in the slightest, I must ask you to humor an old man and take the...medication...that I give you and use it as instructed."

"Why shouldn't I believe you?" I asked, confused. "Does it have to do with my arm?"

"Yes and no," Dr. Stanley said, and undid the last wrapping. "Ah, yes. Look."

I looked, expecting to see stitches or blood or...something. But there was nothing except smooth dark skin and a small, pale, circular scar on the underside of my forearm. I frowned. I didn't know much about medicine, but I knew that there was no way it could have healed in such a short amount of time. And how had the mark appeared?

"My dear, do you know what bit you last night?"

I shrugged, still frowning at my arm as he wrapped it up again. "A feral dog, probably."

"A good guess, but no." Dr. Stanley took my hand and looked into my eyes. "It was a werewolf. The fact that you survived and that your arm is already healed indicates that the werewolf's curse has passed to you."

I stared at him, again unsure of whether he was serious. "Doctor, are you..."

"I am completely serious," he said, and the merry twinkle was gone from his eyes. "I would not wish this burden on anyone. You may believe me or not, but I beg you to listen to what I have to say for your own sake...and for your family's sake. The next month will probably be the worst you've ever had...you will find yourself becoming progressively moody, restless, and aggressive as the full moon approaches. in the next couple of weeks, people will begin to fear you without quite knowing why. It may even continue after your first transformation. You will find it difficult to sleep at night, again as the full moon approaches. You may smell things, sense things you never did before. Your hearing will be markedly improved. You might start sleepwalking. You may think you are going crazy, but you are not. It's perfectly normal. Before the sun sets on the night of the full moon, you must drink the medicine I give you. It will make you...aware of yourself. If you do not take the potion, the beast will overwhelm you. You will have no control. Your family, your friends, everyone around you would be in danger."

I looked at him helplessly. "Doctor, you don't honestly--"

"Yes, I do," he said calmly, and handed me three small bottles. "One for every night of the full moon. If you don't believe me now, you soon will. I'm going to make a follow-up appointment for next month. I will give you more medication then." He got up to leave, setting the bottles on the table next to my bed. "Oh, and one more thing...you might want to avoid silver jewelery. As long as it doesn't touch an open wound, it's harmless, but if it does it could be quite painful. Good luck, my dear."

"Bullshit," I muttered, but I looked at the strange mark on my arm and felt a shiver run up my spine.


	2. This Sucks

Please, please, please review: this one's nice and long to make up for the first one

My dad took me home a short while later and sent me to bed with firm orders not to "over exert myself". I wasn't inclined to argue. I grabbed my tattered copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ and spent the next hour or so soaking in the bathtub with bubbles up to my chin and Joni Mitchell playing in the background. Then I pulled on my comfiest pajamas and curled up in bed to enjoy a restful slumber. At least, it _was_ restful until Soula woke me up and asked me dumb questions, explaining that the nurse had given Baba instructions to do so every few hours to see if my concussion worsened. I was not happy about this, but tried very hard not to bite Soula's head off. It was a near thing, a couple of times.

I went back to school a couple of days later and was immediately accosted by people wanting to know if I was okay and what had happened and would I be able to play in the next soccer game and wasn't it lucky Jared was there? I merely snorted at this last but did not voice the opinion that Jared was a worthless poof. To the general public, anyway. I did voice that opinion to Jared's face and told him I'd be fine on my own from then on. He was not happy. He called me an ungrateful bitch and stormed off. I saw him two periods later with girls fawning all over him—comforting him, no doubt.

From then on, though, everything seemed to go downhill. Teachers refused to call on me in class and my teammates turned cold and distant. No one would quite make eye contact with me in the halls and, when I spoke to people, they always seemed to have something urgent that needed to be attended to.

I also suddenly found myself without friends. When I had time for a social life (which wasn't often) I had always hung out with Jared and his friends—I'd never really had any close friends of my own. When I dumped Jared, I found myself utterly alone. And, actually, I was pretty okay with that. I mean, I hadn't really liked them anyway and it was nice to be able to go home on the weekends and hang out with my family. But it was more than that. It was like...like kids at school didn't matter because they were—different, somehow. Less.

Now, it occurred to me that Dr. Stanley had said this would happen. But I wasn't all that moody or agitated—or, if I was, it was purely because the world had gone insane and I kept hearing noises that no one else seemed to hear and smelling things I'd never wanted to know about. And possibly PMS. Just to be safe, though, I took the silver necklace my dad had given me for my birthday and pressed it against a shaving cut that was currently gushing blood onto the bathroom floor. He said it would hurt, but it was only a shaving cut—it would probably just sting a little. If, you know, he was telling the truth. I hesitated, biting my lip. Wasn't silver lethal to werewolves? Just how much would this hurt? Closing my eyes, I pressed the necklace against the cut and waited. Nothing. I collapsed on the toilet, dizzy with relief. I wasn't a werewolf. Jared must have been spreading rumors about me. Yeah, that's it. Werewolves aren't real, anyway.

I was considerably more cheerful and optimistic—surely everyone would come around—until I woke up one night and found myself out on the lawn. Though I was seriously freaked out, I dismissed the incident and continued to hope—a little desperately—that everything was fine. But when I woke up early one morning and nicked my tongue on small, sharp fangs, I finally had to admit that everything was not fine. In fact, everything sucked. Especially the fact that my fingers had elongated and were tipped with sharp claws. I froze, heart pounding, and willed the claws to go away. Slowly, as if they were melting, the claws disappeared, leaving only normal, human fingers.

Shaking, I moved to my desk and peered at the calendar on the wall. A week and a half until the full moon. So why was I starting to change? And why hadn't the silver hurt me? Dr. Stanley, I thought. Right. I'll ask him. Maybe the wolf that bit me was diseased or something. I hastily dressed and secured my hair with a clip before grabbing my keys and running out the door.

When I got to the hospital, I realized that it was Sunday and that Dr. Stanley might not be there. I asked the receptionist, who told me he was off duty until Tuesday. I bullied her into giving me his phone number and practically snatched it out of her hand as soon as she finished writing it. I called him from the safety of my car and arranged a meeting with him at his home, which was unfortunately an hour's drive away.

When I got there, Dr. Stanley greeted me cordially and invited me in. If he thought it was odd that I had gone through so much trouble to see him, he hid it well. He sat me down in the living room and gave me tea and cookies before settling himself in an armchair.

"How may I help you, my dear?" he asked cheerfully, eyes twinkling. "May I deduce from your visit that you have decided to believe my diagnosis?"

"Yes," I said shortly. "But something's wrong."

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, startled. "The moon won't be full for more than a week. What could possibly be wrong?"

"I didn't believe you at first," I said quickly, "because I put my silver necklace against a cut and I didn't feel a thing. But then I woke up this morning and my teeth had gone pointy and my fingers were claws."

"Indeed," the doctor murmured, gazing at me intently.

"Is this...usual?" I asked fearfully.

"No," he said quietly. "No, it is not."

"So...what do I do?" I asked, a little hysterically.

"My dear...Ari...I suggest we perform a small experiment. When you awoke to find yourself partially changed, what did you do?"

I frowned. "I...I wanted it to go away so I thought about it really hard—normal fingers, I mean—and the claws went away."

"Do you think you could do it again?" he asked. "But in reverse?"

"I—I guess," I said, surprised. I hadn't thought of that. "You mean you want me to try to—to turn into a wolf?" Dr. Stanley nodded. "But I don't have that stuff—won't I be dangerous?"

Dr. Stanely considered. "Perhaps. But I have a hunch...and, anyway, I have means to defend myself. Will you try?"

"Y-yes," I said nervously.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Dr. Stanely suggested, motioning to the floor.

I nodded and sat crosslegged on the carpet. Unsure of how to begin, I closed my eyes and thought of how my teeth and fingers had felt. Then I imagined fur covering my body and my ears lengthening. I had an image in my head now, and a strange sense of something awakening inside me. When I opened my eyes, I was on my feet—four of them, I realized with distant shock. I shook myself free of the encumbering folds of clothing and looked around. Dr. Stanely was staring at me warily with one hand hovering around his pocket. He was saying something. It took me a few seconds to work out what he was saying.

"Ari? Ari, can you understand me?"

Jerkily, I nodded my head once.

"Are you having difficulty maintaining control? Do you feel as if you're fighting off a beast?"

I shook my head.

"There is no urge to kill?"

I thought about that. I wasn't hungry, really, so no. But I had the feeling that if I was, I wouldn't mind killing something. I tried to shrug and realized I couldn't, so I settled for cocking my head at him. Dr. Stanely relaxed and sat back down.

"I think you'd better come back, now," he said, and tactfully turned around while I changed back and hastily dressed.

When I was human and clothed once more, I collapsed on the couch and hid my face in my hands. What was wrong with me? How was this even possible?

"This is extraordinary," Dr. Stanely murmured, looking at me feverishly. "Absolutely extraordinary."

"So, what do I do?" I asked, looking up.

"Do?" he asked incredulously. "What is there _to _do? My dear young woman, you have been granted an unbelievable gift. A werewolf who is not affected by silver, who retains awareness, and who is not limited to changing at the full moon. It is simply...miraculous!"

"Well, don't I feel lucky," I muttered, staring moodily at a spider's web in the window.

"You should," Dr. Stanely said sharply. "You cannot conceive how much easier this will make your...condition. Or how much safer it will be for your family. My advice to you is to spend as much time as possible between now and the full moon getting to know your wolf form. I am fairly certain that you will have to change during the full moon whether you want to or not, just like any other werewolf. It is possible that during this time you will lose control and become the monster that other werewolves are. Or you might not. There is only one way to know for sure. When the full moon comes, make sure your are safely away from human habitation, just in case. You can let me know how it goes when you come in for your appointment."

Still feeling extremely unsettled but no longer panicked, I thanked Dr. Stanley and drove home. When I arrived, Soula was just starting breakfast. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and promised to come down and help after I changed. I made my way up to my room, head spinning. I still could not quite get my mind around what had happened. For about two minutes, I had been a wolf. I had actually, physically been a wolf. It was impossible. I sighed and pulled on some old jeans and a ratty, faded button down shirt of my dad's. While my dad had always been very strict about being 'appropriately dressed' when in public, at home I generally lived in my pajamas or old, equally unsuitable clothing.

I whipped my hair into a bun and padded downstairs barefoot to help Soula prepare breakfast. Together we set the table and had everything ready by the time my dad showed up. Soula sat down with us and we began the meal in a companionable silence. I looked up after a bit and noticed my father gazing thoughtfully at me.

"Yes?" I inquired.

"Is everything all right, sweetheart?" he asked. "You seem tired."

"I'm fine," I said, giving what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Have people been nicer at all?" I had told him about the weird attitude at school.

"Not really," I said miserably, abandoning all pretense. What with turning into a wolf and all, it was getting to be a bit too much. "They all just—shy away like I'm contaminated or something."

"You know...you can transfer, if you like," he said earnestly. "You shouldn't have to put up with this."

"Transfer where?" I asked, curious in spite of myself. "I thought you didn't approve of the public school system."

"I don't," my father said heavily. "But you've an uncle you know, on your mother's side—in England. There are boarding schools in France and he'd be close enough to keep an eye on you--"

"I'm not going to any boarding school," I interrupted in alarm. "I don't want to leave."

My father smiled. "I'm relieved to hear that. I don't want you to leave, either."

"I didn't know I had an English uncle," I said more calmly. "How come we've never heard from him?"

"I'm sure he's a busy man," Baba shrugged. "He sent you chocolates for Christmas last year, though, remember?"

"Oh, did he send those? I thought they were from one of your clients. They were good."

"No, they were from John MacTavish—you're mother's brother in law," Baba added. "I wonder what he's up to these days. Maybe I'll give him a call."

"Not about me," I said, becoming alarmed again.

"Don't worry, _koukla_, you don't have to go anywhere," he said soothingly. "It might be useful to have some contacts in England, that's all, in case I need to travel. Or perhaps it might be useful for him to have contacts here. Did you hear about the terrorist attacks in England?"

I nodded. All sorts of odd things had been happening in England—bridges collapsing inexplicably, people being murdered left and right, mass depression, strange, unexplainable deaths... "Weird, isn't it?"

"Very," my father agreed, and suddenly grinned. "Now, I brought something back from the city last night. We can have it for dessert."

"What?" I asked eagerly.

Baba nodded to Soula, who grinned and scurried into the kitchen. She returned carrying a white bakery box. I smiled in anticipation. I thought I had an idea of what was in the box. Soula laid it on the table and opened it.

"_Bougatsa_!" I cried happily, seizing one of the creamy pastries.

"I thought it might cheer you up," Baba said, eyes twinkling. "You've been too sad lately."

"Mmmm," I said in reply. "Mmhmmm."

Baba chuckled and rose to leave. "I'll be in the office if you need me."

I nodded and flapped a hand at him, still occupied with my _bougatsa. _When I was done, I helped Soula clear up and headed back to my room to do my homework. When I finished, I wandered around my room restlessly. I picked up several books and ended up putting every one of them back. With a sigh, I pulled on a warm track suit and sneakers and threw my hair into a ponytail.

"I'm going running," I called as I opened the door and stepped outside into the crisp fall air.

I was going running, but that wasn't all I intended to do. What Dr. Stanley had said made sense. I didn't want to turn into a monster at the full moon. I would learn to control it. For the next week, I spent every opportunity in the woods near our house, running in wolf-shape. It was wonderful—glorious. The sense of power and complete freedom was overwhelming. While I was often restless, I didn't usually find myself agitated as Dr. Stanley had said I would. Probably because I had the opportunity to change that most werewolves didn't. People at school became even more wary of me, but I didn't care. My father and Soula still treated me the same, and that was all that mattered.

The two days before the full moon, I had a stroke of luck: my dad had to travel for business and wouldn't be back for four or five days at least. Soula would still be there, of course, but she slept like a rock and I could easily slip out the door without waking her up. This was extremely fortunate, because I had no idea what I would have told him.

So, I said drove my dad to the airport and kissed him goodbye, both excited and nervous about my approaching adventure. When the time came, I waited until Soula was safely in bed and snoring and then quietly let myself out of the house. I hurried toward the woods. I could already feel the changes starting. I was barely under the trees when my knees suddenly bent backward, making me fall forward. I panted and grinned. It hurt, sort of, but it was a good kind of hurt, like when you stretch the day after a hard practice.

When the transformation was complete, I shook out my shaggy coat luxuriously and loped off. Dr. Stanley had been right: this was a blessing. I hastily choked back a triumphant howl; I wasn't that far from civilization. It wouldn't do for animal control to come searching.

I dropped my pace a little and trotted along with my nose to the ground, investigating new and interesting smells. Soon, however, I found something strange. It was a human scent. That in itself wasn't odd—many people hiked or ran or biked in these woods—but the scent suddenly stopped and changed to a scent I couldn't identify. I went back to the human smell. Even that smelled odd ... recognizably human (and female), but with a strange overtone of...something. Something familiar.

Interest piqued, I followed the scent backwards until it disappeared. It simply disappeared. There had been no bicycle or car or quad. The scent simply stopped. Perhaps I didn't know how to use my nose yet. Dismissing the strange incident, I continued on my way, tracking down and scaring small creatures out of hiding. I had a grand old time and was almost sorry to change back when the moon set sometime before dawn.

Fortunately it was Sunday, so I could sleep in—and I did. Until one in the afternoon. The next night was not so great since I had to get up and go to school the next morning. That was quite possibly the worst day of my life. I had never pulled an all-nighter before and had no wish to repeat the experience. But I did. The next day was even worse, but at least I had the prospect of a full night's sleep to keep me going since the moon was beginning to wane.

I staggered through the door that afternoon with my mind fixed on my bed. It was only four o'clock, but I felt like I could sleep for a week. I stumbled up the stairs and nearly knocked Soula over as I turned a corner. I steadied her and was about to continue to my bedroom when I saw tears streaming down her face. She was clutching the phone to her chest with white-knuckled hands.

"Soula? Soula, what's wrong?" I asked in Greek. "Are you well?"

"Kahtia..._poulaki mou_...I'm so sorry," she murmured, hugging me tightly.

I pulled away. I could feel the first nigglings of dread in my stomach. "What's happened?"

"Your father," she whispered brokenly. "He's dead. A homeless man shot him in New York."

I heard a roaring sound in my head and was dimly aware that I was no longer standing. Dead? It couldn't be. It simply was not possible. My father was not dead. He was supposed to come home tomorrow. He said he'd bring me back a present. Why would he have told me that if he were going to be shot? Somewhere in the back of my head, I realized that this logic was rather flawed, but that didn't seem to matter at the moment.

I heard Soula calling me as if from very far away. My head felt very heavy and I was starting to feel nauseous. With a groan, I pushed myself off the floor. This proved to be a mistake as all the blood rushed from my head and I collapsed again, unconscious.

For the second time, I woke up in a hospital bed. This time, however, I did not see my father's face above me. That was when I really believed he was dead. Nothing else could've kept him away. I started to cry. The door burst open and Soula was immediately by my side, holding my face against her shoulder and stroking my hair as I sobbed uncontrollably. When I still hadn't stopped an hour later, the doctor—it was Dr. Stanley, though I didn't really notice at the time—gave me tranquilizers. I slept for a long time and when I woke up, I found myself thinking more clearly.

It wasn't long before Soula arrived, bearing a large box that smelled of food. She briskly laid it all out on the tray, revealing steaming _trachana_ (an extremely yummy soup), bread, feta, and salad. It all looked so good and I had been expecting nasty hospital food. It nearly made me cry again.

"The 'food' they serve here isn't even edible," Soula said by way of explanation as she poured two mugs of tea from a thermos. I noticed her eyes were red and swollen. "I've more soup at home waiting for you as soon as the doctor says you can leave. He should be here any minute."

I nodded and blew on the tea to cool it. I closed my eyes and let the steam float over my face, breathing in the mountain tea's calming scent.

"Soula...did they—did they find the man that did it?" I asked hesitantly. Loath as I was to bring the subject up, I had to know.

"Yes," Soula assured me. "He didn't even put up a fight and gave a full confession to the police. Said he'd wanted your father's gold watch and ring."

"What will happen to him?" I asked.

"Nothing," Soula said softly. "He killed himself last night."

I felt a surge of relief that I would not have to attend a trial and immediately felt guilty. Then I hardened my heart. Why should _I_ feel guilty? It was no more than he deserved and no more than he would have gotten if he'd gone on trial. The bastard had killed my father. As much as I tried, however, I couldn't bring myself to feel angry. I simply felt empty.

"Your father's lawyer and an agent from Social Services are waiting to talk to you as soon as your ready," Soula informed me gently. "There is the matter of your father's will and who will have custody of you until you turn eighteen."

"Oh," I said blankly. I hadn't even thought of that. For minute I was quite alarmed, but made myself calm down. Baba would surely have named his sister or his parents as my guardians. "When do I have to talk to them?"

"Not until you're ready, _koukla_," Soula said, and patted my hand. "I can handle it, if you like."

"No, no," I said hastily. "I'd rather do it myself."

"Alright," Soula said, and placed a pile of freshly laundered clothing at the foot of my bed. "I washed these for you. Ah, here's the doctor. I'll just wait outside until you're ready."

Soula let herself out and Dr. Stanley took her place. He took my hand gently in both of his and looked earnestly into my eyes.

"My dear, I am so very sorry for your loss," he said. "And at such a time..."

"Thank you," I said, squeezing his hand. "I assume this is our 'follow up'?"

"Yes, it seemed most...er..."

"Convenient?" I asked with a slight smile.

Dr. Stanley smiled back sheepishly. "Well...anyway, did you have any trouble? You didn't lose yourself at all?"

"No," I told him. "No trouble at all, unless you count going three days with maybe four hours of sleep."

"My dear girl, whatever do you mean?" he exclaimed.

"Well, I still had to go to school, didn't I?"

"Oh, you silly girl," he sighed, shaking his head. "That was an extremely foolish thing to do. Most—well, those who do work or go to school—call in sick during the full moon. You are a growing young woman and you need your sleep, understand?"

"I can't just not go to school," I argued. "You're allowed...wait...fourteen absences from school. Any more than that and I can't graduate. There's still another seven months of school left."

Dr. Stanley waved this concern away. "I can give you notes to excuse you from school."

I grudgingly accepted this but shuddered at the thought of three days of make-up work every month. Dr. Stanley patted my knee and stood up.

"There's not much I can do for you now," he said, "since you don't need the medication. All I can tell you is to go home, take a hot bath, and relax."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "I'll see you next month, I guess."

Dr. Stanley nodded. "Until then."

I did as he suggested and about three books, an entire bottle of bubble bath, and a good night's sleep later, I was ready to face the lawyer and Social Service workers. I was freshly showered and dressed 'appropriately', as my dad would say. Did I mention that casual clothing was his pet peeve? Maybe I did. Anyway.

Of the two men, I picked out the lawyer immediately. He had that harassed, 'don't mess with me' air about him despite his impeccable clothing. The first Social Service worker was a youngish woman—maybe thirty or thirty five—with red hair and freckles. She had a kind face. I looked at the other man uncertainly. He didn't look like a Social Service worker. He looked like a businessman. He was probably a few years older than my dad, with brown hair going silver at the temples, muddy brown eyes, and pale skin. He smelled different from the other two. I sniffed unobtrusively. Perhaps I was imagining things.

"Hello," the redhead chirped, startling me with her cheerfulness. I'd been expecting pity, but I didn't mind the surprise. It was refreshing. "My name's Annie Brown. This is your father's lawyer, David Jones, and this gentleman is your uncle, John MacTavish. It seems odd to introduce you to your own uncle, but he tells me you've never met before."

"No, we haven't," I said smoothly, resisting the urge to let my jaw drop to the floor. I held my hand out. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir."

He shook my hand firmly and smiled. "The pleasure is mine. I only wish the circumstances were better."

His light British accent took me by surprise for a moment, but I didn't lose my composure. I shook hands with Ms. Brown and Mr. Jones and took a seat opposite them. Ms. Brown smiled reassuringly at me and took a sip of the coffee Soula had provided.

"I'll bet you're wondering what Mr. MacTavish is doing here," Ms. Brown stated.

"I am," I agreed, and smiled graciously at my uncle. "I'm certainly glad to finally meet you, but I was wondering why you chose to visit now."

"Did your father ever tell you who would be your guardian if something were to happen to him?" Ms. Brown inquired.

"No, but I always assumed I would live with my grandparents or my aunt in Greece," I replied. "I've spent my summers and holidays there for as long as I can remember."

"Well, that was the plan until about two weeks ago," Mr. Jones said briskly, speaking for the first time. "He arranged a meeting with me not long ago and changed his will, naming Mr. MacTavish your guardian."

I had to take a moment to get over my shock. "I see. This is...quite unexpected."

"I didn't exactly expect it either," Mr. MacTavish said, laughing ruefully. "I haven't spoken to him in years, but he rang me a couple of weeks ago and we started talking. You see, I have a rather large estate in England and a flourishing business but no children of my own. He wanted you to be well taken care of," he added gently. "I'm sure he would have told you if he hadn't—if he'd had the opportunity."

"Is this set in stone?" I asked, I cast an apologetic glance at my uncle. "I am flattered at your offer, but I've only just met you. I would be much happier with my grandparents. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," Mr. MacTavish assured me. "And, if that is truly what you desire, I will certainly accept your choice. However, I think you should hear what I have to say. As I said, I have no children of my own—my wife died many years ago. I have a large estate in the country, complete with stables and bridle paths. You ride quite well, am I right? I have contacts at Oxford University, where you would be a shoo-in in any case. I can hire private tutors until you attend a university so you don't have to go through the stress of starting at a new school. But you wouldn't lack for company. I often invite business associates and friends to dinner and parties and several of them have children about your age. In fact, I've a lad who's doing his internship with me who's only a few years older than you. And it's what your father obviously wanted."

I considered this. He had a point. My relatives in Greece were not exactly well off, even though my father routinely offered them money and a place in the States. And spending a few months in the English countryside, away from the hostile faces that I faced everyday, did not seem like such a bad idea. I'd be going to college soon, anyway. I could still go to Princeton if I wanted.

"Why don't you and your uncle discuss it further between the two of you," Ms. Brown suggested. "If you need anything at all, just give me a call. I left my number with Mrs. Papageno—Papaga—Soula." She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"I will arrange the legal matters with Mr. MacTavish if you decide to accept him as your guardian," Mr. Jones told me, and granted me an unexpected smile. "I wouldn't wish that much paperwork on my mother in law, much less a seventeen year old girl."

I rose with them and saw them to the door, thanking them and bidding them good bye. I returned to the sitting room, where Mr. MacTavish was drinking his coffee. I sat down opposite him once more and tried to think of something to say. I could hear Soula bustling about upstairs, no doubt cleaning.

"There is one more thing that I ought to tell you," he said suddenly. "And I think it will help you make your decision. I thought it best to wait until we were alone to tell you that I know about your...condition."

"My condition, sir?" I asked, heart pounding. Perhaps he merely meant my state of bereavement. Yes, he had lost his wife...surely that's what he meant.

"Your curse," he continued. "Lycanthropy."

My blood ran cold. Surely he wasn't trying to blackmail me...

"And what of it?" I asked calmly.

He frowned. "I merely thought that it would be much more convenient if your guardian was aware of such a condition. I will not wonder why you get ill once a month and ask awkward questions. You won't have to worry about sneaking out of the house—I'll know where you are and won't worry. That's why I mentioned my estate, you know. There's plenty of room for you without endangering anyone."

I cleared my throat, making sure it still worked. "How did you know?"

"The mark on your arm," he said, pointing to the pale circle on my forearm.

"But how do you—I mean--" I stopped and took a deep breath before beginning again. "The average businessman does not readily believe in werewolves, Mr. MacTavish, much less recognize one on sight."

"My wife was one," he told me softly. "She was killed before we had any children."

"Oh," I murmured. "I'm very sorry. But what about the current situation in England? It sounds dangerous, even from over here."

"I assure you, you would be quite safe at my estate," he said firmly, then smiled. "And we can do without this Mr. MacTavish nonsense. I'm your uncle, am I not?"

I smiled. "All right, then...Uncle." Remembering my manners, I hastily asked, "You will stay for dinner, won't you? And we've more than enough room here if you would like to stay. It seems silly for you to pay for a hotel room when we're family."

"That is a most generous offer, Katerina," he nodded. "I believe I shall accept."

"Oh, please call me Ari," I said without thinking. "Or Ariadne, if your prefer. That's what my American friends call me."

"Ariadne, then," he said. "That's a lovely name."

Dinner was almost enjoyable, and only the slightest bit awkward. I then showed him his room and told him to look through my father's book collection if he wished something to read. By the end of the evening, I found myself in need of another bubble bath. Over the next few days, however, I got used to having him around and relaxed a little bit. He was polite and courteous, but not overbearing or pompous as I had feared he might be. It was also a relief not to have to organize my father's funeral or put the house up for sale or see to the many other legal issues that accompany death. After that first night, Soula ate with us like she always had. Uncle didn't seem to mind.

I took solace in running at night when my end of the deal got to be overwhelming. I had to make sure all of my transcripts were in order and fill out an application for Oxford and get my midyear reports and contact my family. I might have felt the need to say goodbye to everyone at school, but they all seemed quite to pleased to see me go. I tried to keep as busy as I could because then I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. Sometimes it was still a shock to see Uncle sit down at the table instead of my father, even though he sat at the opposite end. Every time the phone rang, I expected to hear my father's voice. I was freshly disappointed each time and so I avoided answering the phone at all. It wasn't as if anyone ever called for me, anyway.

My family arrived the night before the funeral and I was overrun by aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, great-aunts and great-uncles, second cousins, and people who I knew were family but whose relationship to me I wasn't quite sure of. In my family, it's much simpler to just call everyone (everyone who isn't a grandparent) a cousin or an aunt or uncle. Makes things much less confusing. So, with the arrival of about twenty relatives, Uncle Mac, as I had taken to calling him, decided to clear off to give them some room—he said. I suspected he didn't want to get caught up in the traditional wailing session known as keening. My dad's aunt Alexandra was the best in town, so she made up for my lack of enthusiasm.

I was glad that it was Soula who explained that there would be no procession to the church (and no more wailing) since the church was about ten miles away. So I put on a simple black dress that my dad had always liked and crammed four of my younger cousins in the backseat of my car and set off. My cousin Christo, who was closest to me in age at twenty, accompanied me as well and kept the screeching and giggling to a minimum. He offered to drive, but I'd experienced his driving before and was much more comfortable driving myself. It wasn't his fault, I guess. They all drive like maniacs in Greece.

The actual funeral was a blur of silent tears. All I was really aware of was Christo's warm arm around my shoulders and little Aliki holding my hand. When the men lowered my father's body into the ground, however, I burst into tears which were swiftly muffled by my grandmother's rather substantial bosom. With a sudden boom of thunder, rain started pouring from the heavens. Vaguely I wondered if there had been any clouds in the sky a few minutes ago. I let Christo drive on the way home and he took special care to drive reasonably safely.

It was something of a relief to just hang out with my family after the funeral. After the stress of the previous few days, no one really felt like mourning anymore. It sounds kind of bad, I know, but grief is exhausting. We all wanted to just relax. So we had a nice dinner and talked well into the night. I told them of my decision to live with Uncle Mac. My grandparents and older relatives understood and completely agreed, but my cousins were indignant. This led to an enthusiastic discussion that lasted a good hour or so. I would have been upset if I didn't know that they were arguing for argument's sake.

The next morning, my female cousins accompanied me to my room to undertake the daunting task of packing and cleaning out my closet and wardrobe. I inspected my assembled task force: eight year old Aliki and her nine year old sister Anastasia, thirteen year old Sofia, Anthoula, who was twenty two, and Eleni, who was twenty five and had her little daughter, Mina, settled on her hip. Between the six—well, seven, but I doubted the newborn Mina would do much—of us, I thought we'd be able to manage it.

"Right," I began. (PS: all conversation from now until further notice is in Greek. I'm translating for you out of the kindness of my heart.) "Anastasia, your job is to fold the clothes I give you and put them in my suitcase. Aliki, you'll put the ones I give you in that bag there. Eleni, if you could put the clothes we give you in your bag, that'd be great. Sofi and Anthoula and I will decide which clothes I keep (those will go to Anastasia), which clothes get thrown out (Aliki), and which ones you guys will take home with you (Eleni). All right, lets get to it."

In theory, it should have gone smoothly. But you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men and all that. Or you should, anyway. Within twenty minutes, Aliki and Anastasia were playing with my old stuffed animals, Eleni had to go change Mina's diaper, and Anthoula and I were giving Sofi a make-over. She was pretty awkward, even for thirteen. She was skinny and tomboyish with glasses and frizzy black curls, but really quite pretty underneath it all. Anthoula and I had a grand time dressing her up in my old clothes and playing with her hair and applying make-up. Sofi grumbled through it all, but I think she was secretly pleased. By the time we were through, we had created a masterpiece.

Such artistry couldn't go to waste, we decided, so Anthoula and I dressed up as well and the three of us had a girl's night out. We left my room looking like a hurricane had swept through it, but the plane didn't leave until the next evening, so...yeah. We ended up throwing everything together at the last minute and getting on each other's nerves, but we got it done. When I was finally ready, my family only surrendered me to Uncle Mac after multiple hugs and kisses from each family member and a generally tearful farewell.

"Take care of yourself, Kahti," Christo murmured, hugging me tightly before making way for his older sister, Anthoula.

"I want to hear all about England when you come visit," she told me, blinking back tears. "And don't let this MacTavees person push you around."

I swallowed, trying to force down the lump in my throat and got into the car with Uncle Mac. I tried to console myself with the thought that I would see them again in next to no time, but I still sniffled all the way to the airport. When were were settled in first class, I found myself becoming extremely sleepy. I listened to music until the plane took off and then put my seat back. Feeling that the flight would be much less awkward if I were asleep for the duration, I gratefully settled back and sighed. It had been a long day. I firmly put aside all thoughts and fears about the new life ahead of me and fell asleep.

I awoke to Uncle Mac shaking my shoulder gently, saying that the plane was going to land soon. Groggily, I put my seat back in its normal position and gratefully accepted the breakfast tray and hot wash cloth the flight attendant handed me. I had slept through dinner the night before and was so famished I didn't mind the practically fake food. First class food is alright, I suppose, but it's a far cry from Soula's cooking.

After we got through customs, we were met by a sleek black car driven by a thin, weedy, mean looking man with pale, watery eyes and lank hair. I didn't like the looks of him—and I liked the look he was giving me even less. I chatted half-heartedly with Uncle Mac on the drive from London and slept a little more. When I woke up, we were driving along a country rode with nothing but snow-covered fields and distant woods on either side. It seemed a barren, lonely place. As we drove further north, the landscape became hillier and more densely wooded. I found it odd that I'd seen no sign of human habitation in the last hour. But hey, what did I know about England?

When we finally arrived, I didn't bother trying to hide my amazement. He had said he had a large estate, but—it was a palace! It was enormous. And he didn't even have children! What the hell did he do with it all? After a few moments, Uncle Mac chuckled at my wide eyed expression and welcomed me to Greenwood Manor.

"Don't worry—it won't often be as empty as it is now," Uncle Mac assured me. "I normally have business associates staying with me, but I thought you might like a few days to settle in. My intern is here, though—he's living with me. I suppose his internship will turn out to be rather more thorough than most students'," he added with a laugh. "He might well get more than he bargained for."

I nodded mutely and continued to gape at the gynormous monstrosity that was my uncle's house. When we got out of the car and I reached for my bags, Uncle Mac shooed me away.

"Willie will see to your bags. Come, come, I'll show you where your room is."

I followed Uncle Mac up the steps to the huge wooden door, which opened to reveal a handsome young man. He wore expensive-looking slacks and a gray shirt, but the sleeves were rolled up and the first few buttons were undone. His tawny blond hair looked slightly ruffled, as if he had run a hand through it several times. He had that rumpled, frustrated, sleep-deprived look that I had seen so often in my father after a long week at work. This must be the intern, I decided.

Uncle Mac laughed. "Been working hard, have you? You look like you could use a break."

"If by 'break' you mean 'hauling bags up three flights of stairs', then I'll stick with paperwork, thanks," the young man drawled, and then spotted me hovering behind my uncle. "Is this your niece?"

"Ah, forgive me," Uncle Mac said, urging me forward. "Ariadne, this is my intern, Draco Malfoy. Draco, may I present my niece, Ariadne Metaxas. I'd like you to show her around and get her settled in her room before dinner."

I blinked. That was an odd name. Maybe his parents were hippies. But it suited him, somehow. Now that I was closer, I could see that his eyes were an eerie silver color that would not have looked out of place on a dragon. Very odd. Nevertheless, I smiled and held out my hand.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," I said politely.

He took my hand, but instead of shaking it, he shocked me by giving me a slight bow and brushing his lips across my fingers.

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine," he replied. "I didn't think I would be lucky enough to see sunlight today, much less a lady as radiant as yourself."

I smiled, tickled by both his gallant manner and his compliment. "I've been on a plane for the past seven or eight hours," I said dryly. "Several adjectives come to mind, but 'radiant' isn't one of them."

"I think you'd best leave that to those qualified to judge," Draco told me, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. "Shall we?"

"By all means."

Mr. Malfoy led me through a maze of hallways in the East Wing, pointing out his rooms (plural), his office, the family dining room (was there another one?), the library, a sitting room ('a', not 'the') complete with a grand piano (there was a harp in the sitting room in the West Wing), and other private chambers. It was dizzying. When we finally arrived at my rooms (plural), I found myself holding my breath. Mr. Malfoy opened the door and stepped aside to let me in first.

I took a deep breath and stepped into a sitting room that was a perfect miniature of the one we had passed on the way. There were a few empty book cases, a couch, an armchair, a writing desk, a neat little table, and even a little lap harp. There were white and pink roses and baby's breath in a vase on the table.

"This is marvelous!" I breathed, turning to Mr. Malfoy with a brilliant smile.

He didn't exactly grin, but he seemed pleased. "Would you like to see your bedroom?"

"Yes, please," I said heartily.

If the sitting room was marvelous, the bedroom was nothing short of glorious. It was only with the greatest self control that I kept from throwing myself onto the huge canopy bed or inspecting every brush and comb of the fancy vanity set. Instead I rushed over to the bay window and looked out to see a lovely walled garden and a forest beyond. Everything was decorated in soft grays and blues with bits of lavender and cream. It had an enormous walk-in closet with a set of nifty little shelves for my shoes.

"Do you like it?" Mr. Malfoy asked, frowning. "I wasn't sure what you would want--"

"Like?" I squeaked. "This is—astounding. Did you decorate this yourself?"

"Yes," he admitted somewhat reluctantly. "It was one of the first tasks your uncle assigned me. I've never done any decorating before, but he assures me that it is highly relevant to business."

"Mr. Malfoy--"

"Please, call me Draco," he interrupted smoothly. "My father was Mr. Malfoy."

"Only if you call me Ari," I replied, inspecting the vanity set at one end of the room. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-two," he told me. "You?"

"I'll be eighteen in February." I looked up to see him frown. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. You just seem older, that's all."

"I get that a lot."

"Well, this way, Ari," Draco said, opening another door.

"There's more?" I asked, startled.

I stepped through the door and found myself in heaven. The bath tub was a jacuzzi the size of a kiddie pool and deep enough for the water to come up to my chest. The shower head came directly down from the ceiling. I turned it on experimentally and discovered that the spray was wide enough to envelope me completely. I was severely tempted to strip right there and hop in, but I restrained myself. Barely. In the mirror cabinet there were all kinds of bath salts and shampoos and soaps and all sorts of things. The closet held a mountain of fluffy towels and bathrobes and washcloths. I felt faint.

Suddenly I laughed delightedly. "This is so cool!"

This time, I didn't try to restrain myself. I ran back into my bed room and launched myself at the bed from a good ten feet away. I landed and sunk about five feet into the downy comforter, giggling madly. I fought my way back up for air and looked sheepishly at Draco, who was leaning against the door frame with a sardonic smile on his face.

"Sorry," I said, "I just wasn't expecting everything to be so...grand."

"I'll leave you to get settled in—I've got to finish those blasted accounts," he added with a slight grimace. "Do you remember where the family dining room is?"

"Um..."

"I'll come fetch you in an hour or so, then. It will give me an excuse to stop early."

"That would be wonderful," I said. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," he said politely with a little bow. His eyes crinkled slightly in a smile. "Anything for a pretty lady."

I shook my head in wonder as he left. What a flirt. As soon as I was sure he was gone, I dashed into the bathroom and threw off my clothes. In no time at all, I was up to my neck in hot, lilac-scented water with bubbles in my hair. I was sure that if I died right then and went to heaven, I would find myself in the same exact position. I soaked for a little while and then scrubbed every inch of my body and washed my hair. When I got out about an hour later, I felt like a new woman.

I dried off with a warm, fluffy towel and put on an equally warm, fluffy bathrobe. After wrapping my hair in the towel, I brushed my teeth and rubbed on some face lotion. I found my bags in my room and started to unpack, wondering what I should wear. Surely dinner wasn't a formal event? But everything else here was so nice...

I was still trying to decide when a knock on the door interrupted me. Cursing softly, I clutched my bathrobe around me and went to open the door. Draco stood with his hands in his pockets and a fleeting expression of surprise before his face resumed his normally (from what I'd seen) cool expression.

"Running late, are we?" he asked mildly.

"A bit," I agreed. "I just don't know what to wear. After seeing all this—I just don't know what's appropriate."

I looked him over critically. He wore black slacks and a silky-looking black dress shirt, but it was the sort of outfit that could pass for dressy or casual. Guys had it so easy when it came to clothes.

"Normally, dinner would be quite casual," Draco told me, "but a few of your uncle's friends dropped in unexpectedly, so I expect he'd like you to wear something nice. Nothing too fancy."

"Nice or dressy?" I asked. "There's a difference."

"May I?" I stepped aside to let Draco in. "Have you unpacked yet?"

"A little."

Draco strode across the room and into my bedroom, making me intensely grateful that I hadn't unpacked any underwear or anything yet. Most of what I had unpacked was strewn across the bed or chairs. Draco sifted through the clothes and held out a beige dress that my aunt had sent me for my birthday the previous year. I made a mental note to myself to put similar dresses aside for dinner parties.

"I think this will be fine," he said. "I'll wait in your sitting room."

"Thank you," I said gratefully.

I pulled on the dress and did a little twirl. I'd always liked the way the fabric swirled around my knees. I hurriedly pinned my hair up and applied a little eyeliner and put on my shoes. Because the the dress left my arms bare, I fished a little shawl out from my suitcase and draped it over my shoulders. With a last twirl and a look in the mirror, I opened the door to find Draco leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He nodded appreciatively and offered his arm.

"Just how many people are going to be there?" I asked casually, though my stomach clenched uncomfortably. I hadn't counted on having to deal with people quite yet. What if I made a fool of myself and embarrassed my uncle or looked really ignorant and unsophisticated or--

"Just a few of his friends," Draco said soothingly. "Don't worry about a thing. And, anyway, they'll probably ignore us both. Old people are like that," he added with a wry smile. "They'll completely ignore anyone without wrinkles or liver spots unless they're being rude."

I smiled up at him, reassured by his blasé manner. I wondered if Uncle Mac had invited him to stay because I was coming. If so, it had been a good idea. A really, _really_ good idea.

"Uncle Mac's not that old," I said defensively.

"His friends are," Draco replied. "Well, two of them, anyway. Dolohov is about his age."

"Is that all?" I asked, thoroughly relieved. "Just three?"

"Well, and their wives."

"Oh."

He could not have said anything to make me more nervous. Any sort of female is, as a rule, more dangerous than a male to deal with at any social engagement. Rich, snobby females who know each other are a guaranteed nightmare. I set my jaw resolutely and squared my shoulders as we approached the dining room. Bring it on, bitches.

Uncle Mac stood up as we entered and Draco surrendered his hold on me, letting Uncle Mac lead me forward to be introduced to his guests. Antonin Dolohov was dark haired and sallow skinned with an unpleasant set to his mouth. The brothers Jeremiah and Alfred Ketworth looked like twin oaks—gnarled, twisted, and lumpy. They both looked like singularly grumpy old men, but Jeremiah in particular looked like he enjoyed whacking little children with his cane. I wondered briefly if all of my uncle's friends were like these three.

All three men shared, in addition to a rather unwelcoming appearance, wives who were probably half their age. Dolohov's wife, Genevieve, was an icy blond with red talons for fingernails and way too much cleavage. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. The Ketworths' wives, Catherine and Isabelle, were between thirty five and forty and trying desperately to look like they were still twenty. I got the distinct impression that both were annoyed that their husbands were still alive. I resisted the urge to sneer. Gold diggers, all three of them. I took my place next to Draco and smiled as nicely as I could at Genevieve, who was across from me.

"I love your necklace," I said, nodding to the diamond choker she was wearing. Nothing too fancy, my foot, I thought. These women were dressed like they were going to the Grammies.

"It was a gift from Antonin," she replied carelessly. "All real diamonds, of course."

"Is that the fashion in America these days?" Catherine asked, eying my dress disdainfully. "How...quaint."

"My aunt gave it to me for my birthday," I said, casting my eyes down demurely. "She said it was perfect to set off a tiny waist."

Catherine's eyes narrowed. _Her_ waist was noticeably thicker than was desirable. "How sweet."

"You just arrived today, did you not?" Isabelle asked me. "Was the flight enjoyable?"

"I couldn't tell you," I said, smiling ingratiatingly. "I slept most of the way."

"It was your first time flying first class, I expect."

"Oh, no. I've spent my summers in Greece for as long as I can remember. My father would never have sent me on anything but first class," I said coldly.

"John tells us you are quite an accomplished young woman." I turned to face my new attacker, Catherine. "You sing and play the piano, yes?"

"Among other things," I agreed coolly.

"You will sing for us later, won't you? I'm sure we would all love to hear something. A lovely aria, perhaps?"

"Italian or Fench?" I asked, smiling sweetly. "Or perhaps something contemporary...Copeland? Perera? I'm sure you're familiar with their works. Or a Hindemith sonata if you would prefer the piano?"

Catherine's smile was strained. "Whatever you are most comfortable with, my dear."

Throughout dinner, Catherine and Isabelle made a point of making chatting about people and events that I was entirely unfamiliar with. Genevieve ignored me completely, staring moodily into space. Draco turned to me occasionally to make light conversation, but his attention was more often demanded by the Geezers, as I had dubbed them in my mind. I cast a dirty look at Draco. They certainly weren't ignoring him. Perhaps he had liver spots and wrinkles that I didn't know about.

After dinner, Uncle Mac led the way to the sitting room, where Catherine and Isabelle immediately pounced, demanding that I sing for everyone. Uncle Mac agreed heartily, pointing out a book case devoted to music. Before I could move, Catherine grabbed a book at random and opened to a page.

"I love this piece," she gushed. "Do sing this one."

I looked at it and resisted the urge to smirk. My voice teacher had had me singing out of that book for the past year. Catherine had unwittingly opened to an Italian piece I knew like the back of my hand. I smiled graciously and moved to sit at the piano. I sang the piece rather flawlessly, I must say, and was rewarded both by my uncle's look of smug approval and the sour, pinched look on Catherine and Isabelle's faces. Genevieve merely looked bored. Afterward, I accepted compliments with an appropriate mixture of modesty and pride and moved to take a seat, but Uncle Mac asked if I could perhaps accompany Draco for a song.

"You sing?" I asked, smiling in delight. "Well, what a pleasant surprise. I hadn't expected to find someone to sing with here," I added without thinking, then blushed. "That is—I'm sorry, I'm sure you're busy--"

"Not at all," Draco said, waving my apology away. "It sounds like a most enjoyable way to spend winter evenings. Certainly more enjoyable than mountains of paperwork."

"Draco, honestly," my uncle protested. "It's not that as bad as all that!"

"In any case, I will be delighted to sing with you some time," Draco told me with a swift grin at my uncle.

I found myself having a little bit of trouble playing because I was trying to listen and sight-read at the same time. Draco had a beautifully dark, smooth baritone that sent shivers up my spine. Dear Lord, why wasn't this guy on Broadway? Or whatever the English equivalent was. I could just picture him as the Phantom. A blond Phantom, anyway. I wonder if I could find the sheet music for that anywhere...?

I applauded heartily when we were finished, smiling broadly at him, and then surprised myself with a huge yawn. I hastily clapped a hand over my mouth and laughed sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry, it's just been such a long day..." I flicked an apologetic glance at my Uncle. "I think it's time for me to be in bed."

Uncle Mac checked his watch. "Good God, it's nearly midnight. Do forgive me, Ariadne. Draco, see her back to her rooms, won't you? We don't want you getting lost and starving to death, do we, my dear?"

"I daresay that would be most unfortunate," I laughed. "Goodnight, everyone. It was a pleasure meeting you all."

I took Draco's arm once more and hid a yawn as we left. It had been an exhausting—but not unsatisfying—evening. I smirked smugly. Eat it, hags. They were no doubt talking about me behind my back even as I was thinking this. Well, let them.

"You survived," Draco observed, smirking. "I was listening in from time to time and I must say, I am impressed."

"Oh, it was nothing," I said dismissively, and sighed dramatically. "I feel sorry for them, I really do."

"Why is that?" Draco asked, eyes twinkling.

"Why, because they're not as beautiful or talented or intelligent as I am, of course," I said innocently, and pretended to fluff my hair.

Draco chuckled. "No, they're not."

We continued on in companionable silence until we reached my door. Draco opened the door for me and I smiled up at him a little uncertainly.

"Well—good night," I said. "And thank you—for everything. You don't know how much I appreciate it."

"It was my pleasure," he assured me. I moved to close the door, but he suddenly said, "Wait—Ari...would you like to go riding with me tomorrow?"

"Oh—yes. Yes, I would love to." Pleased and slightly embarrassed, I smiled shyly. "Good night, then."

Draco nodded, looking pleased with himself. "Good night."


	3. Huh?

The next morning, I awoke to a loud knock on my door. I bounced out of bed, feeling very much refreshed, and opened the door to find no one there. I looked around in confusion and some disappointment (I had thought it might be Draco) and then noticed a fancy card stuck to my door. _Your presence is requested in the family dining room at nine o'clock for breakfast. _It was unsigned. Shrugging, I glanced at the clock and saw that it was only quarter to eight. More than enough time for a nice, long shower.

I was about to go back into my bedroom when there came another knock at the sitting room door. This time it was Draco and I had to try very hard not to beam at him like some lovesick third grader. He was dressed in sturdy work clothes and riding boots.

"I wanted to let you know to dress for riding," he said brusquely. "We'll have to go right after breakfast."

"Thanks," I replied, and stood there awkwardly, trying to think of something to say.

"You remember where the dining room is?"

I thought of saying 'no', just so he would have to accompany me, but I decided that this was kind of childish and nodded. He nodded curtly and gave me that little bow of his before striding away. I frowned after him. That was interesting. Maybe he was just embarrassed or shy. But that didn't seem right. He had been so charming and confident the night before. With a shrug, I retreated to my bathroom and forgot all about it in the euphoria that came with showering in that wondrous bathtub.

I dried off and dug out a pair of jeans, the under-armor I wore under my soccer uniform when it was cold, a thermal vest and socks, a sweater, a hoodie, a scarf, a hat, and two pairs of gloves. In case you haven't gotten the picture yet, I absolutely hate being cold. I put everything on except the outer layers and braided my hair. Then, gathering up what I wasn't wearing, I made my way to the family dining room. Uncle Mac raised his eyebrows as I dumped everything next to my chair but didn't say anything. Draco grunted in greeting and continued drinking his tea.

I sat down and helped myself to some bread and jam, yogurt, and fruit. After a few minutes of chewing in silence, Uncle Mac cleared his throat. I looked up inquiringly.

"I've contacted your tutors to let them know that you've arrived," he told me. "Do you think you'll be ready to start your lessons tomorrow? If you need another day to get settled in, that's fine."

"Oh, no, tomorrow's alright," I replied, wiping my mouth. "What lessons will I have?"

"You might find it a bit different from what you're used to," Uncle Mac said hesitantly. "But I think it will be quite beneficial. And you might find the change refreshing."

"What do you mean?" I asked curiously.

"Well," Uncle Mac began. "Tomorrow, for instance, you will study Logic, Geometry, Rhetoric, and an introduction to Astronomy in the morning. In the afternoon, you'll have piano, voice, and art lessons."

I raised my eyebrows and grinned. "A classical education for the Greek girl, huh? What other lessons did you have in mind?"

"Well, I thought you should continue your studies in foreign language—you already speak French, Spanish, and Italian, correct? You shall continue learning those as well as Russian. You need to learn to dance, you need to learn proper etiquette—last night was just a warm-up; just wait until we go to bigger parties. I assure you, some of these women make Catherine and Isabelle look like kittens. What else? Ah, yes. Physical education is most important—I thought riding, archery, and fencing should suffice."

I blinked, stunned. Then I grinned. Sure, it was a lot, but it would be so fun! And it would give me the tools I needed to play Big Bad Bitch with all the snotty women I was sure to meet. I realized then that this was Uncle Mac's aim. I smiled blissfully. No more Calculus, no more Physics, no more Chemistry. It was almost—almost—too good to be true.

"That sounds fantastic," I said heartily. "I can't wait."

Uncle Mac chuckled. "Just you wait, my girl. Soon you'll wish you'd taken my offer of another day."

After breakfast, Draco and I headed out to the stables. He was still silent most of the way, but when he did speak, it was with more warmth than there had been earlier. Two saddled horses were waiting for us in cross ties when we entered the stables. I frowned at this, but decided Draco must have let the grooms know ahead of time. But where were the grooms? And where was the household staff, come to think of it? A house this large needed some sort of staff. I pushed these thoughts out of my mind, determined to have a good time.

Once we were out in the fresh air, Draco lightened up a bit, teasing me about my multi-layered ensemble. I retorted in kind and we spent the better part of twenty minutes bantering back and forth.

"I'm sorry I was such an ogre earlier," he told me as we rode through a meadow. "I should have warned you—I'm a real bear in the morning."

"Ah," I said in tones of vast enlightenment. "My cousin's like that. He's useless until noon at least, even with coffee. Why don't you drink coffee?"

"I don't know," Draco said, looking surprised. "I never drank it growing up. My mother wouldn't let me drink anything stronger than tea."

"What you need is coffee," I told him. "I never needed it, though. I'm fine as soon as I wake up."

"Oh, you're one of _those_," Draco said disgustedly, and shuddered. "Morning people. Ugh."

In response, I grabbed a pine cone from an overhanging branch and chucked it at the back of his head. I giggled as he made a sound of mock outrage and yelped when a snowball knocked my hat off.

"Where did you get that?" I demanded.

"I've had it the whole time," he told me, eyes twinkling. "Just in case."

"You shouldn't be so trusting, Draco. Really..."

Draco laughed and retrieved my hat for me and we continued on our way. It was quite a delightful outing and I returned in high spirits. Upon entering the house, we went our separate ways: he to his study and I to my room to finish unpacking (and perhaps take another bath). I spent the rest of the day putting away clothes and books, unpacking and finding places for little knickknacks I had brought with me, and looking over the books Uncle Mac had bought for my lessons.

I had a small shock when I tried to plug in my alarm clock: there weren't any outlets anywhere. How, then, did my lamp work? Surely it couldn't be battery powered. I looked in the sitting room. Nope. No outlets there, either. I scratched my head. Something weird was going on here. No visible staff, no outlets. I thought back. No radios, TV sets, computers, or telephones, either. This time I had more trouble putting such thoughts out of my mind. But what could I do about it? I didn't want to ask Uncle Mac or Draco for fear of some insanely simple answer that would make me look like a two year old. I'll listen, I decided. And explore. I can figure this out.

Unfortunately, I soon found myself without any time to breathe, much less explore. Well, alright, I did have some free time, but most of it was spent in the bathtub or exploring the woods in wolf-shape. I did listen, but neither Draco nor Uncle Mac let anything suspicious slip. Although what, exactly, would constitute suspicious, I had no idea. About halfway through the week, I decided to actually do something about my predicament.

I caught Uncle Mac on the way to his study in between French and Spanish and caught his sleeve.

"Uncle Mac! I'm sorry to bother you, but I'd wanted to call my grandmother today," I said and smiled ingratiatingly. "I feel so silly—where's the telephone?"

"The—oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear, I didn't even think..." Uncle Mac scratched his head and laughed sheepishly. "Well, the thing is—I haven't got a telephone. I never liked being interrupted day in and day out by the blasted things. I'm quite old fashioned, I'm afraid...if you wish to contact your relatives, I'd be more than happy to take a letter down to the village to be mailed."

"Oh," I said, not at all satisfied with this answer. "Yes, I'll do that. Thank you."

He didn't have a telephone? That was simply not possible. Not for a businessman, anyway. I stared broodingly at Uncle Mac's back until my Spanish tutor suddenly barked at me from the door of the library.

_"Tenemos una problema, señorita? No tengo todo el dia."_

_"Uno momento," _I called, and reluctantly turned back.

At the end of the week, I received a surprise. I was leaving the arena after my riding lesson when I spotted Draco letting himself out of one of the stalls. Suppressing the butterflies in my stomach, I waited for him to catch up. I couldn't suppress, however, a small sigh. He was _so_ good-looking.

"Ari," he greeted me with a smile. "Has your uncle told you the good news?"

"What good news?" I asked as we made our way up the path to the house.

"Oh, good," Draco said, looking pleased. "I did hope I could surprise you."

"Surprise me with what?" I asked curiously.

"I have to go to London on business tonight," he informed me.

"And this is good news?" I said before I could stop myself, and blushed.

Draco grinned. "Yes, it is. Would you like to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you, my dear, are coming with me," he proclaimed triumphantly.

"Really?" I asked excitedly. "Wait—just you and me?"

"Just you and me. Well, and Willie."

"Scandalous," I said in a stage whisper.

"I'll have you know my intentions are completely honorable," Draco told me, pretending to be offended. "Besides, it'd be more than my job—or my life—is worth to try anything funny."

"Why's Uncle Mac sending me with you?" I asked. "Not that I'm objecting, of course."

"I'm to take you shopping, actually," Draco said ruefully. "There are several social engagements coming up and he wants your wardrobe to be well stocked. And he thought you might want to do some Christmas shopping."

"Oh," I said, startled. "Wow, I'd completely forgotten about Christmas. Only two weeks."

"Don't get too excited," he told me. "He's having a Christmas party and everyone is going to be there. Or here, rather. And before you ask, it _is_ a fancy occasion."

"And we're leaving tonight? How long are we staying? What should I pack? Oh, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Yes, just the weekend, at least one nice dress, and because your uncle didn't want you to be distracted in your lessons," Draco replied, sounding amused. "Go on, I'll see you at dinner."

I dashed up to my room and (after a nice bubble bath) spent a good hour trying on different dresses and deciding what to bring. I was finished just in time for dinner and practically skipped into the dining room. Uncle Mac looked up, smiling.

"Are you all packed?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Thanks for letting me go—I'm really excited. But what about money? I don't think my credit card will work..."

"Don't be silly," Uncle Mac said as Draco walked in. "Draco will pay for anything you need."

"He will?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows and sitting down. "That's generous of you."

"Using my money, of course," Uncle Mac added hastily. He waved away my protests and winked. "If you feel you must repay me, know that my stock of chocolates will probably be gone by Christmas."

"I don't know what to say," I murmured, flustered.

"Say you won't be stingy," he said firmly. "I refuse to let you be outdone by my friends' wretched wives."

"Well, when you put it that way..." I grinned. I turned to Draco. "What's the nice dress for?"

"My mother and a good friend of ours are in London for a few days and I wanted to meet them for dinner," Draco explained. "And I thought you might want to see a play or something."

I resisted the urge to squeal and clap my hands and settled for a wide grin. "That sounds great."

We left (finally) and I suddenly found myself in the backseat with an absolutely gorgeous, rich, courteous young man whose orders were basically to be my slave for the weekend. Oh, the possibilities. Then, of course, I realized that I'd be in this back seat for at least a couple of hours. What in the world would we talk about? God, please don't let me make a fool of myself.

I was kind of surprised and more than a little disgusted with these thoughts. I'd never really gotten all dizzy and giggly over a boy before. But then, I'd never met anyone as good-looking, intelligent, or damned perfect as Draco before, either. And...okay, this might sound a little—well, conceited, but I'd never been unsure of myself with boys before. They were always sort of there for the taking. Like puppies. Whining, squirming puppies saying "Take me home! Take me home!". Draco was no puppy.

However, I needn't have worried. We got along just fine, chatting and laughing like old friends. I eventually fell asleep and the next thing I knew, Draco was gently shaking my shoulder to wake me up. I sat up and blinked groggily, letting him help me out of the car.

"It's so foggy," I murmured sleepily, and shivered as we hurried into the hotel. "What time is it?"

"Just about midnight," Draco replied, and held the door open for me to go in first. What a gentleman.

I waited quietly, half asleep, while he checked us in and followed the bellhop up to our rooms. Why was he calling Draco Mr. Malcolm? Maybe I heard wrong. Draco helped me out of my coat and handed me my key.

"I've some business to attend to," he said. "It won't take long."

"Draco, it's twelve o'clock," I protested. "What--"

"It won't take long," he repeated firmly, steering me toward the bed. "Get in bed, you're dead on your feet."

I got in bed without further protest and closed my eyes, but I had no intention of going to sleep. Businessmen were strange creatures, to be sure, but a business meeting after midnight? Please. Using my enhanced senses on purpose for the first time, I listened carefully to Draco moving about his room while I silently dressed in warm street clothes. I would stay in wolf-shape if I could help it, but if I did have to change, I wanted to be warm. Thankfully, I had figured out how to keep my clothes on when I changed. It wouldn't do to be walking around London naked.

There. Draco was leaving. I darted over to the door, waited a moment, and peeked out. There was Draco, disappearing around the corner. I padded after him, keeping a sharp ear out for any maids or bellhops that might be lurking. I didn't want anyone to see me—I wouldn't put it past them to tell Draco that I'd been following him.

I made it outside without being seen and slipped into a deserted alleyway to change. Shaking out my coat, I put my nose to the ground and spent a few minutes searching for Draco's scent. Ah, there we go. And then I was off, slinking through the shadows although I probably didn't need to worry. The streets seemed oddly deserted. In big cities, there are usually people out an about no matter what the hour. But there was no one.

I followed Draco's trail down a dark alley to a dingy, beat-up door. A huge gorilla of a man stood guard. A bouncer? Was Draco merely out for a drink? No, I decided. If he wanted a drink, he would've gone someplace fancier. Or cleaner, at least. I dodged the kick the brute aimed at me and bared my teeth before trotting around the corner.

I changed and pulled up my hood, mentally berating myself. What the hell was I doing? For all I knew, it could be a strip club. Now that would be embarrassing. Taking a deep breath, I walked back around the corner and approached the bouncer.

"Wot's yer bizness?" he grunted at me.

"I'm here to see Mr. Malcolm," I said with far more confidence than I felt. "He's expecting me."

"Oh," he said, attitude changing at once. "Mister Malcolm, ye say? I do beg yer pardon, miss. Gwan in, then, roit down th' stairs. Best hurry, though. Mister Malcolm's up next."

I nodded curtly and brushed by him. What the hell did that mean? Up next for what? I hurried down the stairs and found myself in a seething mass of shouting, sweating, swearing bodies. No one noticed me; all eyes were on the ring in the center of the room. Boxing? _Boxing_? Draco was a bookie?

No, not a bookie, I realized with a clenching feeling in my stomach. There was Draco, stripped to the waist and glistening with sweat, sprawled on a stool and panting. A man in a dark suit was dabbing a cut on his cheek with a sponge. I shot a quick look at the opposite corner and smirked in spite of myself. This one didn't look so good. Even in the dim light, I could see that his nose was gushing blood and one eye was swollen shut. His manager was desperately trying to stem the flow while talking furiously at him.

The bell went off. Draco was instantly on his feet. I gasped as his opponent threw a vicious-looking punch which Draco ducked neatly and returned, knocking the man's head back. The fight didn't last long after that. It seemed to me that Draco played with him a little bit before dealing him a truly stunning blow that knocked him clear off his feet. He didn't get up.

I slipped into the shadows as Draco ducked out of the ring and collected his earnings from the man in the dark suit. I darted back up the stairs and into the alleyway without even a glance at the guard at the door. I couldn't believe it. Draco in an unlicensed boxing match? It was impossible! Draco, the rich, suave business student? Draco the singer?

After I got over the shock of having my mental image of Draco shattered, I found that I was more impressed than upset. I didn't know much about boxing, but even I could see that he was good. He moved like he was made of liquid steel. He moved like a predator.

I slipped into the hotel behind a bellhop and darted down the hallway and up to my room. I threw off my clothes and dove into bed, mind whirling. I wonder if my uncle knew? Possibly, I mused. Maybe he got a cut of Draco's earnings.

It took me a long time to fall asleep, even after I heard Draco enter his room some twenty minutes later. There was something decidedly fishy about Draco and my uncle. But did Draco's 'business' have anything to do with the complete lack of visible technology or service at my uncle's house? I didn't see how they could possibly be related, but surely this wasn't coincidence. And what, exactly, _was_ dear Uncle Mac's business, anyway? I'd never thought to ask.

There were quite a lot of thing's I'd never thought to ask, I realized. Like what did Draco and Uncle Mac do all day while I was in lessons? Why was it more convenient for Draco to stay with Uncle Mac if he had to go into London to do business? Whatever happened to that friend of Uncle Mac's from Oxford? Why didn't I ever see a mailman at Greenwood, even though I'd received letters from Soula and my family? Uncle Mac said he retrieved the letters from the village, but why hadn't I ever been to the village—or even seen it? And where did Willie go when he wasn't driving us places? These questions bounced around in my head until finally, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

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keep the reviews coming!


	4. Sex God

I woke the next morning to Draco pounding on the door that joined our rooms.

"Wake up," he called. "Breakfast is in a half hour."

"Uhng," I grunted, and rolled over.

"I've got a pitcher of ice water with your name on it, sweet," he warned me.

"I'm up, I'm up!"

Grumbling, I lurched out of bed and into the shower. After an extremely unsatisfying ten minutes, I forced myself to leave that hot, steamy cocoon of comfort and get dressed. I wrapped my towel (which wasn't nearly as warm or fluffy as Uncle Mac's) around myself and went back into my bedroom to get clothes. I glanced at my bed and nearly dropped my towel in shock.

"Oh, no," I said, backing away. "You stay away from me, you hear? Leave me alone."

"Didn't you miss me, lovey?" the young god asked mockingly from where he reclined (nude) on my bed. "It's been so long since our last chat."

"It hasn't been long enough," I retorted coldly. "What do you want?"

"Oh, tut," Eros said, eyes sparkling with cold amusement. "Most maidens would die for the honor."

"What do you want?" I repeated, remembering vividly my last encounter with the god of love. I'd been thirteen and completely obsessed with a boy named Steven, who didn't notice me one way or the other.

"I just wanted to warn you that there's no use in trying to shield your heart from that walking orgasm in the other room," Eros said lightly. "It's too late. And before you yell at me, it was none of my doing."

"What do you mean, it was none of your doing?" I hissed. "You're the god damned god of love, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, I am," Eros replied with a rakish grin. "Would you like a demonstration?"

"No, I would not," I said flatly. "I would like you to explain to me how it's none of your doing that I'm—and that's supposing that I am—which I'm not, but if I _were_--"

"Oh, I _do_ love a woman who can speak her mind," Eros commented to no one in particular. "However, to answer the question that you didn't quite succeed in asking—do you honestly think that I'm responsible for every poor schmuck that ever fell in love?"

"You made me fall in love with Steven," I said belligerently.

"First of all, that wasn't love, that was infatuation," Eros pointed out. "And secondly, I only did it because you needed a basis of comparison in order to recognize the real thing. So when you admit to yourself that--"

"There's nothing to admit," I muttered mutinously.

"Keep telling yourself that, kiddo. Anyway, when you admit it to yourself, you'll recognize it for what it is."

"So you dropped in just to tell me that I'm destined to fall in love with a man I really know nothing about, who's four years older than me and apparently engages in illegal boxing, works for a businessman who doesn't seem to have any means of actually doing business, and could charm the pants off a nun."

"That's about it, yes," Eros said, looking pleased that I had caught on so quickly. "But—you know, nuns don't usually wear pants. And he's closer to five years older than you."

"Oh, shut up, you engorged prick," I snapped.

"Such language from my esteemed uncle's favorite," Eros chided. "One other thing before I leave: whatever happens, never doubt him. You have an enemy—several, in fact, but he's not one of them. Lover Boy over there may have engaged in...questionable activities...but he would not harm a hair on your pretty little head. Or elsewhere."

Eros disappeared and I suddenly found myself wrapped tightly in his arms. I struggled madly, trying to kick him. I could feel his erection against my belly. Gross. (As the god of love and horny teenagers, he is quite aptly depicted as a beautiful youth in a constant state of arousal.)

"Until next time," he whispered, and kissed me.

"You pervert!" I screeched, but he was no longer there.

"Ari, are you alright? Who's a pervert? Is someone in there?"

"It's nothing," I yelled. "I was yelling at—at the TV."

"What are you watching TV for? We'll be late!"

I threw on my clothes, fuming. Of all the gods, I hated him the most. That fucking horny bastard. Now, you're thinking, wait. Back up. Why are we talking about gods as if they actually exist? Well, because they do. Duh. But let's rewind a little bit. Ever since I was little, I'd known I was different. I saw people sometimes that no one else could see: tall, shining men and women who dressed funny (or in Eros' case, not at all) and laughing girls who ran with me in the woods or swam with me in the sea. The dryads and sea nymphs I saw only in Greece, but sometimes one of the gods would pay me a visit in America. Like Eros. And once I was visited by Apollo, with whom I was supposedly something of a favorite.

Once, a long time ago, I made the mistake of asking my Sunday school teacher why she believed in God if she had never seen him. They all told me that she had a heart attack and died because she was old and fat and that it wasn't my fault, but I always wondered. In any case, I was never a very good Christian. It wasn't that I believed God didn't exist; it just didn't matter much to me. I had more faith in the ancient gods—after all, they had considerably more impact on my life.

Now, it may have occurred to you to ask why, if I can talk to gods, I threw such a fit over becoming a werewolf. Well, to tell you the truth, it was kind of silly of me. It's just that I had always thought of the gods as part of nature. They were no more remarkable than the sunset or a storm. And besides, the fact that they exist had never meant _I_ was supernatural or magical or whatever. Now, of course, I could see the connection.

Draco was rather cross with me as we sat down to breakfast. I glowered right back at him, still in an extremely bad mood. What did He of the Perpetually Perky Penis know, anyway? If he hadn't made me fall in love, what made him think that I had? Because I hadn't. I glared at Draco harder, as if to underline this fact in my mind.

"I thought you were all sunshine and smiles in the morning," Draco said grumpily as he helped me with my coat.

"Yeah, well, not today," I replied. "Where are we going?"

"Wherever you like," Draco said unhelpfully.

"Right. Because I definitely know London like the back of my hand," I said waspishly. "What with all the time I spend here and all."

"What's gotten into you?" Draco demanded. "Did you not get your beauty sleep or something?"

I glared at him. "Are you implying that I _need_ beauty sleep?"

"Females," Draco muttered darkly, and led the way down the street. He stopped at a store a few blocks away and held the door open. "After you," he sneered.

"Thank you," I said coldly, and swept past him.

The fact that the store was stuffed with the most gorgeous gowns I had ever seen was not enough to improve my mood. If anything, it made me angrier because I would have enjoyed it immensely if I wasn't so pissed off. So I took out my anger on Draco by constantly changing my mind and making him run all over the store bringing me dresses. Ha. See if he fell in love with me after _that_.

I was fully cognizant of the fact that I was being a raging ho beast, but to tell you the truth, that kind of worked for me. For a while, anyway. Then I just got tired and kind of cranky with myself as well as Draco. I was trying on a pale, shimmery white-and-gold dress with multiple hooks in the back and grumbling to myself when I suddenly realized that I was stuck. I tried reaching behind me a few different ways, but I couldn't find the hook. I banged my elbow with a muffled curse and twisted my head around, trying to see where it was in the mirror.

"You haven't broken anything, have you?" Draco asked tiredly. "Because I've got to buy it if you have."

I opened the door and stuck my head out. "I'm stuck."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Stuck?"

"Stuck."

"Well...that pink dress was nice..."

"No, I mean I can't get the dress off," I hissed. "I can't reach the hook."

The eyebrows crept higher. "Are you asking me to undress you?"

"I'm asking you to undo a hook," I snapped. "There's a difference."

"Fine," he sighed. "Come out, then."

"I'm not coming out there! I'll be half-naked."

"Then how--"

"You'll have to come in here," I decided.

"Why don't you ask the sales clerk to do it?"

"Because he looks like a lecherous old man!"

"Nonsense. I'm sure he's a very nice person."

"He's a complete stranger!"

"And I'm a randy devil barely out of my teens. I might lose control and ravish you on the spot."

"Draco, _please_?"

"Ravish you? I'm sorry, but I can't do that in good conscience."

"_Draco_."

"Alright, fine." Scowling, Draco stepped gingerly into the dressing room. "Where is it?"

"Draco, let's think about this for a moment. I need you to undo the hook because I can't find it. That's a rather significant piece of information, don't you think?"

"One more word out of you and I'll fetch the lecherous clerk here to do it," Draco growled, fumbling at the dress.

"Ouch," I yelped. "You pinched me!"

"If you would just hold still--"

I tripped over the hem of my dress and fell forward into the mirror. Draco grabbed my waist to steady me just as the door opened to reveal the sales clerk and two customers. Everyone froze for a minute. The two women looked as if they were torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to puke. The sales clerk was clearly horrified and seemed to be seriously considering murder—or suicide. I suddenly realized what, exactly, they were seeing: me, bent over with a man behind me and clutching me about the waist. I turned my head toward the wall and closed my eyes as if they would all just go away if I couldn't see them. Draco released me and straightened.

"Would one of you ladies help my friend with her dress? She can't reach the hooks, you see," he said smoothly, and stepped out of the dressing room.

"Of course," the older woman said kindly, and took his place. "There you are, dear."

"Thank you," I whispered, face flaming.

"You're quite welcome. But I'm sure you can wait until the wedding for that sort of carrying on," she said tartly.

"Oh—it's not—we weren't--"

"Of course not, dear."

I hurriedly pulled on my pants and jacket and brought the dress to the front counter without looking the sales clerk in the eye. But I could feel his eyes boring holes in the top of my head. Draco payed and we left the shop without speaking. Once outside, I heaved a deep sigh and looked up. Draco caught my eye and suddenly we were both laughing so hard that people were hurrying past us as if we might be dangerous.

"Did you—see—their faces--" Draco gasped, dabbing at his eyes.

"I've never been so embarrassed in my life," I moaned, clutching my stomach and laughing.

"I have," Draco told me, still chuckling. "But this is a close second. I think we should seriously consider getting another dress. I'll start laughing every time I see you in it and then I'll have to explain why..."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Well...no, you're probably right," Draco agreed, and grinned. "I wouldn't dare. This stays between us, agreed?"

"Definitely," I replied fervently.

"Well, then, shall we carry on?" Draco asked, and offered his arm.

"Of course."

We strolled down the street arm in arm and continued raiding various shops—but only ones with female sales clerks. By lunch, I had forgotten my bad mood and even forgiven Eros for his mistake. But that didn't mean I believed him. I tried to remind myself that Draco was an illegal boxer who might or might not be in league with my uncle who might or might not be a crook or a phony or something else, but it was useless. There was plenty of time to worry about it later, after all.

But then I noticed that the cut on Draco's cheek had disappeared. I didn't know how serious it was, but there wasn't even a mark. Nothing but smooth, pale skin. Soft, I wonder? I abruptly slapped myself to keep such thoughts at bay. Draco stopped chewing and stared at me in surprise.

"Ari, did you just slap yourself?"

"No, of course not. What makes you say that?"

"But you just--"

"Oh, there was a bug. I got it, though."

And the Lamest Excuse of the Century Award goes to...Ari Metaxas! Congratulations, Ari—that was a doozie. But how had the cut disappeared? Modern day medicine wasn't _that_ good. I frowned, thinking of the mysteries at my uncle's house, and then came to an abrupt conclusion. Draco and my father must be sorcerers or wizards or something. I was a werewolf—if werewolves exist, then why not wizards? Magic was the only explanation for my uncle's house. But how did illegal boxing and my uncle's business fit in?

Then I realized how ridiculous these thoughts were and had to force myself not to slap myself again. Wizards? Honestly. Yes, I could talk to gods, and yes, I was a werewolf, but...wizards? What next, the tooth fairy? Dragons?

"Ari, are you alright?" Draco asked me, jerking me out of my ridiculous thoughts.

I smiled wanly. "I just didn't sleep very well last night, that's all."

"Are you sure? You've been acting strangely all day."

"How do you know what's strange for me?" I pointed out. "You've known me barely a week."

"That's true," he admitted. "But compared to the last week or so, you have been acting oddly."

"I'm fine," I assured him, and smiled. "Thank you."

"All right," Draco said, giving in. "You can trust me, though, if any thing's bothering you."

Unfortunately, these words of comfort were less than comforting because they called to mind my 'chat' with Eros earlier.

"Well, your wardrobe seems to be—er, fleshed out," Draco said, eying the massive bags next to my chair. "Christmas shopping next, do you think? We're to meet my mother and Severus at six."

"Your mother and who?" I asked, thinking I had heard the name wrong.

"Severus," Draco repeated. "He was a good friend of my father's."

"Oh. Does everyone here have strange names?" I said without thinking, and blushed. "Sorry."

"Many of the people you'll meet may have names that sound strange to you," Draco told me. Something about the careful way he said it bothered me a little. "And who are you to complain with a name like Ariadne, hm?"

"There's a difference," I protested.

"And what's that? Tell me, darling, I can't stand the suspense."

"Ariadne is a _beautiful_ name," I replied, tossing my hair. "A name like 'Severus' makes me wonder if all his limbs are still attached."

Draco laughed. "All his limbs are present and accounted for, I assure you. The ones visible to the general public, anyway."

"Draco!" I squealed. Shaking my head, I stood and picked up my bags. I handed a couple to him. "Let's go, beast of burden. We have a lot of presents to buy."

I had a grand time picking out presents for everyone and made Draco pay with his eyes closed when I found his. Before I knew it, it was time to change for dinner. I took a quick shower and put on the nice dress I had brought and reapplied my make up. I wanted to make a good impression. We set off and I grinned as Draco pointed out the restaurant—_The Acropolis_. I wondered if the food was any good. It obviously catered to the fairly wealthy, so I had to wonder whether the food had been watered down to suit fragile western tastes.

We entered and were seated by a girl not much older than myself who spoke with an accent. I greeted her in Greek and was rewarded with a delighted grin and a flurry of questions. Where was I from, was I a native Greek or first generation, etc. She left after a few moments but promised to send her father out to say hello. (He was the owner of the establishment.)

"I didn't know that you're fluent in Greek," Draco commented as we sipped out drinks.

I nodded. "I've spent my summers and holidays in Greece since I was little."

"With your father?"

"With his parents," I corrected him. "They live on Mt. Pelion near the shore. My father visited when he could get off of work."

"That must be fun. My parents went on holiday in the Greek Isles before my father died." Draco grinned crookedly. "I wasn't invited. Mother said it was beautiful, though."

"It is that," I agreed with a sigh, thinking longingly of clear blue skies and a warm sea breeze. I hated all this slush and mist. And snow. And winter in general.

"And here she is now." Draco stood and lifted his hand.

I followed his gaze and saw a tall, beautiful older woman with silky blond hair that was so pale it was nearly white. It was easy to see where Draco got his looks. The man accompanying the woman—Severus, I supposed—was tall, with pallid skin and slightly greasy black hair. His nose looked like it had been broken several times and healed wrong each time. Or maybe he just had a really big nose. In any case, he wasn't exactly a looker. And that sneering expression didn't help matters.

"Mother," Draco greeted her, and kissed her cheek. "Severus. This is Ariadne, John MacTavish's niece from the States. Ari, this is my mother, Narcissa, and Severus Snape."

"It's a pleasure," I said warmly, holding out my hand to both of them.

Narcissa took it almost gingerly. "Yes, it is a pleasure. I've heard so much about you—it's so nice to meet you in person."

"Really?" I flicked a glance at Draco and had to stifle a giggle at the indignant expression on his face. "Nothing bad, I hope."

"Only the best," Narcissa assured me. "Draco's letter was positively glowing, wasn't it, Severus?"

"Mother..." Draco's voice was slightly strained.

"I've never heard such a complimentary report from him regarding a young lady," Severus sneered, hesitating the slightest bit on the word 'lady' as if to imply that I were anything but. He grasped my hand briefly and let go quickly, as if it had snot on it or something.

"Why don't we sit down?" Draco suggested hastily. "How have you been, Mother? Are they treating you alright at the retirement home?"

"Don't tease your poor mother, Draco," Narcissa admonished him. To me, she said, "I'm staying with some friends while Draco's away. The Manor is so empty when he's not at home." Narcissa sighed. "I do love them dearly, but they are a bit much sometimes. I look forward to John's Christmas party."

"Ari and I will be singing a duet at the party, you know," Draco told them. "So you'd better be there."

"We will?" I stared at him in shock.

"Didn't your voice instructor tell you?" I shook my head. "Oh—well, we are. A Christmas carol of some sort, I would think."

"But we only have two weeks--"

"Ari, relax," he said soothingly. "You'll do fine. Ari has a lovely voice," Draco told his mother, who looked faintly amused. "She knocked Catherine and Isabella's socks off a week ago."

"I'm sure they were very impressed," Narcissa said with a sardonic smile.

"Oh, yes, they were thrilled," I answered with a slight smirk. "You know them?"

"I've met them, yes," Narcissa replied, sneering a little. "Charming, to be sure."

"Excuse me," said an accented voice at my elbow, "I hate to interrupt, but my daughter informed me that there was someone at this table that I simply must meet."

_"Kali spera,"_ I said with a smile, and looked up. For a moment I thought my heart had stopped, but I shook myself. "_Ti kaneis?"_

_"_Oh, how wonderful!" he exclaimed. In Greek, he asked me, "What's your name, _paithi mou_? We don't get many Greeks—most of them in the area work for me."

"Katerina," I murmured.

"Are you visiting, or do you live here?"

"I just moved here about a week ago," I answered him, trying and failing to smile.

"From Greece?"

"From America," I corrected him.

"No," he said incredulously. "You have a native accent."

"We spoke Greek in our household in America and I spend a lot of time in Greece," I explained. "I've always considered it home."

"Whereabouts?"

"Pelion," I replied. "And you?"

"Cyprus," he told me, and gestured to the menu. "Order whatever you like, and it's on the house."

"Oh, no—sir..."

He waved away my protests. "I insist. I'll bring you some _tarama _for your pita."

"What was all that about?" Severus asked coolly.

I smiled weakly. "He's giving us dinner for free. Excuse me."

Without waiting for a reply, I got up and hurried toward the bathroom. It was occupied. I sighed and leaned against the wall, pinching the bridge of my nose and trying not to hyperventilate. This proved a little bit difficult, and so I didn't realize he was there until I felt gentle hands on my shoulders.

"Ari?" Draco asked tentatively. "What's wrong?"

I took a deep breath and turned around. "Nothing," I said with a smile. "I'm fine."

"You don't actually expect me to believe that, do you?"

"I'm alright now," I said as reassuringly as I could. "It's just—he looked like my father."

Draco suddenly looked angry for some reason. "I'm sorry, Ari, I should have thought--"

"Draco!" I punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't be stupid, how could you have known?"

"Well, it's a Greek establishment--"

"I hate to break it to you, but all Greeks do not look alike. And anyway, he doesn't look like him at all, now that I think about it." I smiled and touched his arm. "It was just a shock, that's all. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? We can go somewhere else..."

"Are you kidding?" I cried, aghast. "Can you even imagine how insulted the owner would be? That would be terrible!"

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure," I said firmly, and led the way back to the table. I sat down and smiled at Narcissa and Severus. "I'm so sorry...I don't know what came over me."

"Not at all, my dear...are you well?" Narcissa surprised me by reaching across the table to feel my forehead. "You're all clammy."

"I'm fine," I assured them. "Have you tried the _tarama_? It's excellent..."

Dinner progressed without further mishap and was quite enjoyable despite the occasional veiled insult from Severus, who didn't seem to like me very much. I wondered why. Narcissa seemed to be as delighted with me as I was with her. She had a sharp, biting wit and seemed to have dirt not only on Catherine and Isabelle Ketworth, but on every female I was likely to meet at the upcoming party. It was extremely informative.

"It was nice meeting both of you," I said as we were about to leave.

"I'll see you soon enough," Narcissa said airily, waving away my abortive attempt at a farewell and kissing me soundly on the cheek. "Until Christmas, my dear."

Severus merely nodded.

"He didn't like me very much," I observed to Draco as we walked back to the hotel.

"Oh, don't mind him," Draco told me. "He's very old fashioned."

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I?"

"No, no...he's _very_ old fashioned—he wouldn't approve of two young people going to church together without a chaperon," he explained. "He was shocked that your uncle let you come with me."

"Oh," I said, stunned for a minute. "Wow. That's—primeval."

"Yes," Draco agreed, and slanted me a sly glance. "I think he's just bitter—he was never in need of a chaperon, himself."

"That's mean," I said, but laughed. "But it doesn't surprise me. You're mother is really nice, though."

"She is—to people she likes," Draco said, looking relieved.

"Should I be worried?"

"No, of course not...she likes you. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she has a stack of wedding invitations all ready to go by Monday."

I laughed uncertainly, unsure how to respond to this. It was dark, but I turned my face away just in case. I could feel my face heating up. We continued in comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional yawn from me. At the hotel, I fell into bed with a happy smile on my face. Screw Eros. He still wasn't right. I wasn't in love—but it was still pretty nice.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I was awakened from a rather pleasant dream (involving a certain someone who will remain unnamed) later that night. At first I wasn't sure what had disturbed my sleep, but then I noticed that the city sounds outside weren't right. It wasn't merely cars going by and horns honking. Someone—several someones, in fact—was screaming. Wide awake now, I crept over to the window and looked out. There were people darting around and jets of light were shooting back and forth. But what really caught my attention was the huge, glittering green skull that hovered in the sky. It took me a moment to realize that its tongue was actually a snake. Yech. Tonsil hockey, anyone?

Now, it occurred to me that it might just be a light show—you know, like they had the light display of the twin towers? But something told me that in the event of a light show (even one at two oclock in the morning), screaming and running was not the desired effect. And what were those laser things? My mind flashed back to my earlier 'revelation'. You know, about Draco being a sorcerer or wizard or something. This time, it wasn't so easy to just dismiss the thought. I had two options—aliens with laser guns or wizards with magic.

At that moment, Draco burst into my room, scaring me halfway out of my skin. Seriously. I was about a heartbeat away from changing and ripping him to shreds from sheer terror. I calmed my breathing with effort and moved to switch on the light.

"Don't turn that on," Draco snapped, and seized my hand. "Come with me."

"Hold on," I said, tugging my hand away. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain everything later," he said urgently, dragging me toward his room. Once inside, he shut the door and locked it. I sniffed irritably and noticed that strange smell that hung about Draco sometimes. It was much stronger now. Suddenly it clicked. Magic. That's what the smell was.

"Draco, are—are we in danger?"

Draco turned to me and, with my enhanced night vision, I could see him smile faintly. "Don't worry, Ari. I'll take care of you."

This made me think of the last guy who had told me that—or something like it. However, there were two large differences between Jared and Draco. One, Draco was clearly a man, for all he was only a few years older. Two, I had seen Draco in action and fully believed that he could (and would) protect me. Suddenly I heard Eros in my head, telling me I could trust him.

"What should I do?"

Draco, clearly relieved that I was going to cooperate, threw a bunch of his pillows and blankets on the floor in between the bed and the window, making a little nest.

"Get under the blankets and stay down. Don't turn the lights or the TV on, don't get up—I don't want to risk anyone seeing you in the window. Don't open the door for _anyone_, you understand? Even if you think it's me. I can let myself in when I come back. When I come back, I'll be whistling that song you like—the Ghost of the Theater or whatever it's called."

"The Phantom of the Opera," I muttered, rolling my eyes. Honestly.

"Here." He handed me a baseball bat. Where he got it from and why he had it, I didn't even want to know. "If anyone other than myself somehow gets through that door, whack 'em over the head with that and run like hell."

"Run where?" I asked in a slightly squeaky voice. I was beginning to get really frightened. "How will you find me?"

Draco hesitated, then tugged a ring off his finger. "Put this on. If someone comes, just run and hide yourself as best you can. I'll be able to find you."

He cupped my face briefly before rising and heading for the door.

"Draco--" I gulped. "Be careful."

He nodded and disappeared. I shivered and huddled against the bed. What the hell was going on? I knew there were terrorists in England, but I never thought that I'd get caught up in an attack. I eyed the bat lying next to me dubiously. Screw that. I changed swiftly and felt much safer. If anything came through that door, I wouldn't bother with the bat—I'd rip them a new asshole. Literally.

I curled up in a tight ball and listened to the screams and shouts from outside. I was still scared, but at least I was stronger, faster, and equipped with an infinitely more useful dental package than anything on two legs. After some time, I heard the faint footsteps at the opposite end of the hallway.

If I'd had human lips I would have frowned. I hadn't heard them come up the stairs or heard the elevator ding—and I should have. Had they been up here the entire time? Maybe they were guests trying to get away. No—the footsteps stopped outside my room. Silently, I rose and slunk around the corner of the bed. I crouched in the shadows where I had a clear shot at the door. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins. The instant that door opened...

"This room's warded," a stranger's voice muttered. "This must be it."

"We don't have any idea what's on the other side?" asked another voice.

"No—that Stanley person died before he could tell us anything." That voice was female.

My eyes widened and my lip rose in a snarl. Dr. Stanley? Could they be talking about Dr. Stanley? Had they hurt him?

"How do we get through?" asked the first voice.

"Give me a second," snapped the female voice irritably. "Ah. Clever. Alright, here we go."

There was a flash of light and the door sprang open, revealing three figures, all with their right arms raised. They were holding little sticks of some sort. I registered this in the split second that I was air-born, hurtling toward the tallest figure. My jaws closed on his raised arm and I hit him full in the chest, knocking him over backwards. I instantly bounced off him and tore down the hallway, dodging the jets of light sent after me.

Miraculously, the door to the stairs blew open as I approached and I flew down those stairs so fast I might as well have jumped out the window. The door at the bottom was somehow open as well. I didn't stop to puzzle over it but skidded out into an alley and darted through the shadows. My heart was pounding. Where should I go? Where could I possibly be safe?

I ran away from the light and noise and into the darkness. Once the noise had faded from my ears, I slowed my pace to a nervous, slinking gate. Where the hell was I? The place seemed deserted. Everyone was probably hiding under their blankets like I was supposed to be doing. But wait—not everyone, it seemed. I pricked my ears and heard soft sobbing nearby. I followed the crying until I came to a large dumpster. There in the shadows sat a little girl of maybe four or five, crying her eyes out.

I was torn—I had to help the kid, obviously, but I was too scared to change. I crouched low and flattened my ears against my skull, whining slightly. What should I do? I couldn't just leave her...but there was no way I was going to walk around as a human. The question bounced back and forth in my head until the kid made my mind up for me.

"Doggie?" she sniffled. "Here, doggie."

Right. Just call me Lassie. Or what was that other one's name? Oh, yeah. Rin Tin Tin. I crept closer and licked the little girl's hand, making her giggle.

"Nice doggie," she murmured.

I gently took hold of the girl's sleeve in my mouth and tugged until she got the idea and followed me. After a while, though, she got tired and started crying again. With some very impressive non-verbal communication on my part, I got her to climb onto my back and eventually I found myself in a little park—more like a playground, really, but there were bushes that we could hide in. I nudged her in and slipped in after her.

Once we were settled, I changed and instinctively moved to cover the kid's mouth, but she didn't make a peep. She just looked at me with big, trusting eyes and waited.

When nothing was forthcoming, she asked, "Are you an Animagus?"

"A what?"

"An Animagus," she repeated, as if I was the four year old. "My daddy's an Animagus."

"Er—no, I don't think so," I said impatiently. "Listen, what's your name?"

"Katie," she told me, starting to sniffle. "Are you going to take me to my mommy?"

"I don't know where your mommy is," I pointed out.

"I want my mommy," she blubbered, and I slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Look, kid—Katie—you need to be quiet, okay? We need to wait here for my friend to find us. Then maybe he can find your mommy," I told her.

"Is he braver than you?" Katie asked accusingly.

"Most likely," I replied, unperturbed. Call me chicken-livered, but I was perfectly content to wait for Draco and let him sort things out. "We just have to wait and be very, very quiet, okay? Can you do that?"

I waited, jumping at every sound and shivering. I longed for my thick pelt back, but I didn't want the little snot to start crying again. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard a faint whistling. I pricked my ears. Was it—yes! Draco! I waited until the wind shifted my way and I could affirm that it was him before struggling out of the bush.

He turned around, crouched and with his stick thing raised, then straightened up when he saw it was me. I flew forward and slammed into him, but he caught me easily and gripped me by the shoulders.

"Are you alright?" he asked urgently.

I nodded jerkily, unable to speak. I was too scared even to cry.

"We can't stay here," he muttered. "Hold on to me—don't be afraid."

I opened my mouth to protest and only a small squeak came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Wait--" I turned and beckoned to the bush. "Katie, come out. It's alright. This is my friend I was telling you about."

"Ari, what--" Draco sighed as Katie emerged and rubbed his temples. Then he crouched and held a hand out to Katie. "Hello, sweet. Were you out here all alone?"

"I lost my mommy," she said, sticking her thumb in her mouth.

Draco picked her up and settled her on his hip. "We'll find your mum after I take Ari home, alright? Ari, take my hand."

I gripped his hand tightly and tried not to be too envious of Katie, who had her arms wrapped around Draco's neck in a death grip. All at once I felt this horrible squeezing sensation, like I was a pimple about to be popped. Then it was over and I staggered a little. Blinking, I looked around and realized that we were outside the gates of Greenwood. I wasn't as surprised as I thought I'd be. After all, I'd already come to the only possible conclusion. Magic.

"Come on," Draco said tersely, tugging on my hand and leading me down the path.

I almost had to run to keep up with him and kept stubbing my toes on rocks embedded in the road.

"Draco—what was that? What happened?"

"Not yet," he growled.

Uncle Mac met us at the door and quickly ushered me into the nearest room, where I collapsed onto the couch. Draco pointed his stick—wand, I guess—at the fireplace, which burst into flames. Uncle Mac wrapped a heavy blanket around my shoulders and guided my slightly clumsy fingers around a mug of hot chocolate. Draco set Katie down on a chair and tucked another blanket around her.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

Uncle Mac sighed. "This isn't the way I wanted you to find out, my dear, but...well, we—Draco and I—are wizards."

He was obviously waiting for an "Impossible!" or "That cannot be!" or "Preposterous!" or at the very least, "Bullshit." Alas, he was disappointed.

"I noticed," I said dryly, nodding to the wand in Draco's hand. "I've known for a while."

"She's a Muggle?" Katie exclaimed. "She can't be a Muggle, she's an Animagus. My daddy's an Animagus," she added helpfully.

"That's nice, pet," Draco said vaguely, and cleared his throat meaningfully. "Perhaps I should take this one home?"

"Yes, yes, of course," Uncle Mac said hastily. After Draco had led Katie away, Uncle Mac turned to me solemnly. "Please accept my deepest apologies, Ariadne. I never imagined that there would be an attack tonight."

"Just tell me what's going on," I said edgily. "Who was attacking who? And why? Are the terrorists all wizards?"

"My dear, wizards and witches are everywhere, but Muggles—non-magic folk—can't see them. Most have no idea we even exist," he explained. "But now the wizarding world is at war. Muggles, obviously, don't know that, so they think it is simply a mysterious terrorist group."

"Who was attacking who?" I repeated impatiently. "And why?"

"That was the Order of the Phoenix," Uncle Mac told me. "They're your terrorists, or as close to terrorists as you can get. They're a rebel group that controls Scotland and almost all of Ireland. As for who they were attacking, that's a bit more complicated. There are three factions in the war—The Order of the Phoenix, the Ministry of Magic—that's the British Wizarding government—and a third group called...well, we'll call them the Purists."

"What are they fighting over?" I asked.

Uncle Mac sighed. "It's complicated, but what it boils down to is blood. You see, the wizarding race is dying out. Muggle-born witches and wizards are starting to outnumber purebloods. The Purists want to preserve the pure bloodlines and limit the amount of Muggle-born witches and wizards admitted into the wizarding world."

"What does blood have to do with it?" I asked, confused. "If someone has magic, doesn't that make them a wizard?"

"Or a witch. Technically, yes, but if they're not trained, then they can't do much—if anything—with their magic. The Order of the Phoenix is in complete opposition. The Ministry...well, the war is basically between the Phoenix and the Purists. The Ministry is sort of a necessary inconvenience for both sides. But now that they're leaning more toward the Purists, the Order of the Phoenix is angry. I believe tonight's attack was in retaliation. The Ministry recently issued pardons to many Purists who had been captured and is opening negotiations with the Purists."

"And what are you?" I asked, rubbing my forehead. It was a lot to take in. "A Purist or a Phoenix?"

"Neither," he replied. "But I do business with the Purists now and again."

"Speaking of which," I said, "it seems strange that your supposed intern is staying with you for his 'convenience' and yet he has to drive a million hours to London to do business. Doesn't seem very convenient, if you ask me."

"Ah," Uncle Mac said, looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, Draco isn't—technically—my intern. Although he is undoubtedly very useful to have around. No, I invited Draco to stay so that he could keep an eye one you."

"He's my _bodyguard_?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite that strongly. I just wanted to make sure someone was watching out for you, that's all," Uncle Mac smiled wickedly. "And, anyway, you don't seem to mind having him around."

"This is a conspiracy," I muttered. "And your friends—they're all wizards too?"

"Yes."

"But they seem so—normal. Or they did at the time."

"Well, since the war started, there's been a lot of crossover from the Muggle world, at least in the younger generations." Uncle Mac told me. "Kind of ironic, really. And I had them tutored in the hopes that they wouldn't let anything slip."

I groaned. "And my tutors?"

"Most were Muggles," Uncle Mac told me. "Or at least Muggle-born. Your Logic and Geometry tutor was a wizard."

"Great. Wonderful." Groaning, I set down my hot—well, cold—chocolate and stood up. "Don't expect me at breakfast tomorrow."

"Wait." Draco was back. "I want to know who broke the wards I set on my room."

"Like I know?" I asked irritably.

"Just tell me anything you remember."

I sighed. "There were three of them. Two men and a woman. One was tall—I bit--" I stopped and glanced uncertainly at Uncle Mac.

"He knows," he told me, and motioned for me to continue.

"I bit the tall one," I said. "He was going to do something to me with his wand."

"Who got through the wards?" Draco asked, frowning.

"I'm pretty sure it was the girl that did it," I said.

Draco made a noise of disgust. "Leave it to Granger." Seeing my questioning look, he explained, "The Golden Trio is possibly the most annoyingly dangerous unit the Order has. Taken individually, they're none of them anything special, but together they're a huge thorn in a lot of sides."

"The Golden Trio?" I snorted. "Is that what they call themselves?"

"That's what people called them at school," Draco told me. "Insufferable prats, all three of them."

"Wait, you went to school with them?"

"For six long and painful years," Draco affirmed with a sneer. "Did you hear anything or see anything else?"

"Yes—they said something about Stanley," I said urgently. "They said something about him dying before he could tell them anything. They were looking for something in your room and didn't know what it was."

Draco snorted. "Just like them."

"The doctor who told me I was a werewolf was Dr. Stanley—you don't think they meant him, do you?" I asked, biting my lip.

"I don't know," Draco said, frowning. Seeing my worry, he added, "But I don't think they would have gone all the way to America to hurt this Dr. Stanley of yours. And even if they were so inclined, getting into America is very difficult nowadays."

This made me feel slightly better. I yawned widely and blinked. The night's events were catching up to me, it seemed. I felt like a thousand bricks had suddenly been dropped on my head.

"I'll walk you to your room," Draco offered.

"I know where it is, thanks," I replied coolly, and brushed by him.

It hurt more than I thought it would. Uncle Mac had appointed him to be my babysitter. All the attention he had given me didn't mean anything—it was his job. I felt my face heat up. I had never felt so much like a child in my life. And that's how he must think of me—no better than Katie. After all, he _was_ four years older than me. I slammed into my room and toppled into bed. Despite the new information whirling around my mind, I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I didn't realize that I was still wearing his ring.


	5. Hate Me, I'm Beautiful

If you didn't read the part about the "terrorist" attack, go back to chapter four and read it. I had it in this chapter at first, but then I decided it would be better in the other one and switched it. So...yeah.

OH! I forgot to put a disclaimer at the beginning, so here it is: I AM NOT JK ROWLING. I (unfortunately) do not own and will not profit from the Harry Potter universe or Harry Potter characters. Ari is mine, Uncle Mac is mine, Genevieve is mine...basically, anyone you don't recognize is probably mine.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The next morning, I had a revelation—well, two. One was that I hadn't been thinking clearly the night before. Draco, even if it was his job to keep an eye on me, in all likelihood did like me. I mean, he had been flirting with me outright for a week. Maybe it was _just_ flirting, but at least I wasn't a job to him, which was comforting. I should probably apologize for giving him the cold shoulder, I decided.

My second revelation was concerned with _why_ I hadn't been thinking clearly the night before and why I had been cranky for the past few days. And it was a revelation. It was all very clearly—and painfully—revealed to me when I went to the bathroom and found blood on my underwear. And then, of course, the cramps started. Now, normally, I use foul language only in my head. But I make exceptions for extreme circumstances.

"Fuck," I moaned, clutching my middle. "Shit. Damn. Unnngh."

I stumbled to the cabinet and seized the bottle of Midol. It took me a couple of tries to get the thing open, but I managed and downed two tablets. Then I threw off my clothes and got into the tub, pouring in a healthy amount of lavender scented bubble bath. Apologies would have to wait, I told myself firmly.

I spent the next two hours huddled in the bubbly water, clutching my stomach and moaning curses occasionally. I wish I were infertile, I thought desperately. I don't want kids anyway.

"Surely you don't mean that," remarked a voice off to my left.

"I do," I said through gritted teeth. "Right now, I really, really do. Begging your pardon, _kyria_."

"Ariadne, you know you don't have to call me that," Artemis said sternly.

"All right," I grunted. "_Kyria_...Artemis...can't you help me? I get such terrible cramps every month—I feel like I'm dying."

"Well, of course I can," she said tartly. "Why did you think I came?"

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" I gasped.

"Stand up," she ordered, and I instantly obeyed.

Artemis wasn't a goddess to mess around with. I might insult Eros and banter and bicker with Hermes, but the goddesses and great gods were to be respected and obeyed at all times. Artemis rose gracefully from the bench where she had been sitting and walked over to me. We were built remarkably alike—we had the same lean, lithe body, but she was taller. We even looked something alike, though her hair was pitch black and her eyes nearly black, while mine were hazel. I liked her and she liked me well enough (partly because I looked like her), but she was still a goddess.

Artemis placed her hand on my roiling, cramping belly and the pain began to fade. I sighed gratefully and sank back into the water. I allowed myself a moment to revel in the lack of pain and then glanced sharply at Artemis.

"Why have you come, if you don't mind my asking? Cramps doesn't seem like a good enough reason to come all the way from home."

"Even for my brother's favorite?" she asked, amused. "You were in pain. What other reason need there be? You're doubly in my care, now—both as a wolf and a maiden."

With that, she disappeared. Somehow I felt that she wasn't telling me the whole truth. But hey, I was mortal. She didn't have to tell me the truth if she didn't feel like it. I got out of the bathtub since the water was barely lukewarm anyway and dressed in a pair of huge sweatpants and a tee-shirt. I didn't plan on venturing beyond my room or maybe the piano room, as I called the sitting room nearest my bedroom.

I curled up in front of the fire (who had built it?) and did some homework and then read a bit. The cramps were gone, yes, but I still felt bloated and fat and ugly and miserable. Which was why I shouted at the person knocking on my door to go away without a second thought.

"Ariadne," said a shocked voice from the other side of the door.

I groaned. "Sorry, Uncle Mac," I called. "I'm not feeling very well today."

"Should I send up some food?"

"No, I don't think I could keep much down," I answered. Complete and utter bullshit, of course. When I have my period I eat everything and anything in sight.

"Well, if you need anything..."

"I'll let you know." Yeah, right. I can just see it now...Uncle Mac, you wouldn't happen to have any extra tampons lying around, would you? No? What about Midol?

Uncle Mac returned periodically to repeat his offer of food or medicines or anything else I might need. The fifth time this happened, I was a bit exasperated.

"Uncle Mac, really—I don't need anything."

"Ari, it's me." Draco. Great. Just what I needed. "Can I come in?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm—I'm not dressed," I said lamely.

"Are you clothed?" Trust Draco to catch the distinction. Phooey.

"Well, yes, but--"

Draco let himself in and dropped my shopping bags on the table.

"I went back and fetched them this morning," he said by way of explanation, and waited. When I didn't reply, he sighed. "Your uncle told me about last night."

Uh-oh. I could feel myself slipping into Unreasonable Bitch mode.

"Yeah, well," I said irritably. "Sorry you got saddled with diaper duty. But what can you do? It's your job."

"It's not my job," Draco said sharply. "My job is to make sure no one gets through the wards on the estate and to accompany you on excursions outside Greenwood. No one makes me spend time with you."

"Well, thanks very much," I grumbled. "I feel privileged. No, really."

"What's the matter with you?" he cried angrily.

Oh, no. Mayday! Captain, we're going down. We're sinking fast into Weepy Female territory, here.

"Don't yell at me," I said tearfully, and began to sniffle.

"Oh, don't be such a child," Draco sneered.

"I am _not_ a child," I wailed. "I'm fat and ugly and—and smelly and pimply and my crotch is bleeding. So just let me be disgusting in peace, will you?"

"Oh." Draco looked panicked. "Oh. I'll—um—I'll just—go, then, shall I?"

"Go on, then," I cried, and wrenched his ring off my thumb, nearly dislocating it in the process—my thumb, I mean. "And take your stupid ring with you."

As Draco beat a hasty retreat, I threw myself onto the couch and burst into tears. I hate being female, I thought furiously. When I had control of myself again, I blew my nose and sat up. This called for serious amounts of food. I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and peeked out to make sure no one was there before padding down the hallway.

Where _was _the kitchen, anyway? I wondered. Was there a kitchen? At mealtimes, the food had been there when I arrived. Did they just magic it into existence? No, I decided. There has to be food somewhere. There _has_ to be. If I didn't find some food soon I wouldn't be responsible for my actions.

By following my nose, I finally found the Kitchen. Yes, with a capital letter. It was just that impressive. I looked in the pantry and saw, to my amazement, an entire shelf of chocolates. Another shelf held every flavor of Ben and Jerry's ice cream known to man, another cookies, and another chips and crackers. Snapping out of my daze, I snatched a box of chocolates, two packages of cookies, Super Fudge Brownie ice cream, and a bag of Doritos. I turned to leave and then grabbed another box of chocolates. Just in case.

I turned around and yelped, nearly dropping my hoard of goodies. A strange little creature with huge golden eyes and batlike ears stood with a wooden spoon in its hand. It was looking at me curiously but without fear. It looked like it was wearing an old pillowcase.

"Can Cinders help miss with something?" it inquired politely.

"Oh, hi," I stammered. "I'm Ari. Um—I found this stuff...you don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all, miss," Cinders replied cheerfully. "That room provides whatever is needed. Cinders finds it most useful."

"Um...what are you, if you don't mind my asking?" I asked curiously.

"I? I is a house elf, miss," the strange creature told me. "I cooks and cleans for the Master."

"Ah!" I exclaimed. "I was wondering about that. Well, sorry to bother you, Cinders."

"Is nice meeting you, Miss Ari," Cinders said, and disappeared into the vast realm of Kitchen.

I ferreted my stash up to my room and gorged myself. I felt briefly guilty, but shrugged it off. I had fencing tomorrow, anyway. And I felt much better after roughly five pounds of chocolate. So much better, in fact, that I even got dressed and went to the piano room to practice. I opened up the bench and took out_ Phantom of the Opera_. Maybe the bench was enchanted, too, I mused. Just like the pantry. It always seemed to have whatever I needed.

I sang through 'Think of Me' and 'Music of the Night', ' and was in the middle of 'The Phantom of the Opera' when a smooth, dark voice interrupted. Smiling slightly to myself, I continued playing without looking up. God, I loved his voice.

"_Sing once again with me...our strange duet..."_

I jumped in at the appropriate time and by the time we finished the song, I was grinning. I looked up for the first time and smiled shyly at Draco. He very solemnly took his hands from behind his back and offered a bouquet of white roses—and a box of chocolates.

"You're not fat or ugly or pimply or smelly or any of those things," he said firmly.

"Except bleeding." Tee-hee. I think those chocolates were making me giddy.

"Yes, except that," he agreed hastily. There was a faint pink tinge in his cheeks, I noticed, and was very fascinated by it. I couldn't recall ever seeing him blush before. He cleared his throat and granted me his most dashing smile. "You are positively the most enchanting woman I've ever had the pleasure to meet—charming, intelligent, cruel—I mean, witty—radiantly lovely—not to mention possessed of a scent as enticing as her disposition..."

I laughed and accepted the roses and chocolate. "Alright, Don Juan, that's enough. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Well, you've had quite a shock," Draco shrugged. "And—er...well, you know. How did you already know we were wizards, by the way?"

I snorted. "The fact that you didn't know what _The Phantom of the Opera_ should have been the first tip off. But mostly it was the lack of staff, electrical outlets, phones, computers—or TV's, for that matter. Oh, and I followed you to your boxing match--"

"You followed me?" Draco exclaimed incredulously, and shook his head. "You did do the thing properly, didn't you? Rotten little minx."

"Yeah, you could say that. Half your face was covered in blood and the next morning there wasn't a scratch. And then there's all the funny names, the little slip-ups—what exactly is Sleek-Easy's, anyway? Your mother mentioned it."

"Oh—it's a hair potion," Draco said, smirking slightly. "My mother's never really approved of curly hair. She thinks it's unruly." Seeing my narrowed eyes, he added quickly, "But I think it's beautiful."

"Why, thank you," I said with a sweet smile. "How kind of you to say so."

"Aren't you going to eat your chocolates?" Draco asked with a frown, and waved the box tantalizingly under my nose. "They're caramel."

Ooooh, caramel...I could feel myself starting to salivate. My stomach had clearly forgotten that I had just consumed two boxes of chocolate (one of which was caramel), a pint of chocolate ice cream, and two packages of fudge covered cookies. The Doritos were still waiting for me.

"Uh, maybe later," I said in a strangled sort of voice. "I'm... trying to watch my figure."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The full moon came and went and over the next couple of weeks, it became a regular thing to hang out with Draco in the piano room in the evenings, reading or singing or arguing about Muggle pastimes such as soccer and track. He just couldn't see the point of soccer and tried to convince me of the superiority of something called Catfish or Squidshit(A/N: courtesy of my lovely, beautiful sister.) or something. It was supposedly played on broomsticks, which in my opinion made it impossible for it to be considered a sport. I mean, how physically demanding could it be if you were sitting on a broomstick the whole time?

Although our arguments sometimes got rather heated, I rarely became really angry with him because it was simply impossible to be angry at Draco when he had his Casanova Cap on. He often left me feeling flustered and not a little confused, however. Draco was a incorrigible, irredeemable flirt. I already knew that from first hand experience. But, judging from what I had seen at the several dinner parties we attended with my uncle, he was also a completely indiscriminate flirt who was just as likely to chat up old, banshee-like Madam Ketworth as any of the sophisticated, beautiful women who attended these parties. Or me.

To my great surprise, I found an unexpected ally in Genevieve Dolohov. She was cold and maybe more than slightly cruel, yes, but she was also wickedly funny and detested the Ketworth sisters-in-law. Or the Niffler-Twins, as she called them. (I didn't understand the humor in this until she explained that a Niffler was a small, mole-like creature that was obsessed with anything shiny—a perfect name for those pathetic gold-diggers.)

As Christmas drew closer, I found myself more than slightly nervous. It wasn't just a party, it was a ball. With dancing. And about a hundred and fifty people who I was supposed to wow with my solo—which my voice instructor neglected to tell me until three days before the ball. This resulted in several windows shattering and a book case falling over.

Far from being upset, Uncle Mac was delighted. This was apparently an indication that I had some magical ability—beyond turning into a wolf at will, that is. I wasn't too excited about this, myself. Which was probably a good thing, as it turned out. Uncle Mac had some creepy old warlock over to examine me more thoroughly and said creepy warlock declared that my magical ability was minimal and that all I could do was maybe move things without touching them or set things on fire and things like that. You know, little stuff (if you could hear me, you would hear the sarcasm in that statement.). Still, Uncle Mac was determined that what little ability I had be cultivated and trained. So I practiced making things float around my room, which was nifty and useful, setting things on fire, which was nifty but rather less than useful, and changing my hair color and texture. I discovered that I could also change my eye color. (Draco nearly had a heart attack when I arrived at breakfast the morning after my little episode with straight blond hair and silver eyes as a joke—it looked wretched with my skin tone, but the look on his face was worth it.)

The party was to be held on Christmas Eve at seven o'clock. I spent the entire day preparing—doing some last minute practicing, experimenting with hair color, soaking in the bathtub, etc. To my delight, Narcissa Malfoy arrived early and helped me make some adjustments to my dress.

"I think the skirt needs to be filled out a bit," Narcissa said critically, eying the sleek, shimmery dress.

"Just as long as I don't look like a cupcake," I replied warningly.

"My dear, I promise you," Narcissa said smoothly. "You will not bear the slightest resemblance to a pastry of any kind."

The end result was quite acceptable—in fact, it was downright wonderful. I felt like a princess. Narcissa walked slowly around me in a circle, assessing my appearance. She was frowning, though I couldn't see why. The skirt was by no means cupcake-ish—it merely swished pleasantly around my legs and accentuated my tiny waist rather flatteringly. My hair looked great, as did my make up. So what was wrong?

"Ah," she said finally, and snapped her fingers. What looked like a handful of diamonds appeared in her hand. "Jewelery. Consider this your Christmas present."

I gaped at myself in the mirror as she fastened a gold necklace positively dripping with diamonds around my neck and put in matching earrings. Then she stepped back and smiled, waving away my stuttered thanks.

"You look like an angel," she said with almost maternal pride. "I'm going to have my work cut out for me on your wedding day—it'll be hard to make you any lovelier than you are now."

"Planning ahead a bit, are we?" I asked lightly.

"Well, you are going to marry my son, after all," she laughed. "Didn't you know?"

I laughed as well and followed her to the door. Wait...she wasn't serious? No, she was just kidding—or hoping, at most. Well, that made two, I thought flippantly. Her and Eros, that is. Narcissa paused in the hallway and tapped her foot impatiently.

I looked at her uncertainly. "Are we waiting for something?"

"Ariadne," she said severely. "You aren't suggesting we arrive at the ball alone?"

"Of course not," I said seriously. "That would be catastrophic."

Her mouth twitched. "Hush, you. Ah, here they are."

Severus and Draco were approaching. Draco, as always, looked positively mouth-watering. Severus looked like an underfed bat, especially in those billowing robes. Draco had told me that the older generations still wore traditional wizard gear, but I hadn't pictured anything quite so Dracula-esque.

Draco stared at me for a moment before grinning widely. "Ha. Don't try telling me that you aren't radiant this time."

I raised my eyebrows and asked coolly, "Are you implying that I wasn't the last time?"

"Of course not. But it was something of a dull glimmer compared to your present brilliance," he said with a saucy smile, and kissed my hand.

"Well, a lot of the credit goes to your mother," I replied, fingering the necklace nervously. I was sure I was blushing horribly.

Draco frowned suddenly. "Is that..."

"It's the same one," I grinned. "We just made some alterations, that's all. Can't have you start giggling in the middle of our duet, can we?"

Narcissa looked intrigued. She opened her mouth to say something, but Draco stopped her.

"Mother, you really don't want to know."

"Fine then, keep your little secrets," she said fondly, as if she thought this was all terribly adorable. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as Narcissa took Severus's arm and gazed at the two of us with misty eyes. "Shall we go, then?"

"Lead the way, grannie...I mean, Mother."

Narcissa calmly whacked him on both sides of his head with her fan and swept down the corridor on Snape's arm. Draco rubbed his head, grinning ruefully after her.

"You know, it might reduce your chances of brain damage if you were as charming to your mother as you are to everything else with breasts," I remarked as we followed them.

"First of all, I never want to hear the words 'your mother' and 'breasts' in the same sentence ever again. Secondly...I don't think Madam Ketworth's really count as breasts. I always thought she had two really big belly-buttons, personally."

"Ugh! Talk about unwanted mental images," I complained.

Draco grinned evilly. "It won't be a mental image much longer. She's already here and dying to tell you all about her last mammogram."

"Do wizards even have mammograms?"

"No, I just wanted to gross you out."

"Well, you've succeeded admirably." I stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. "But dear Mr. Ketworth was telling me earlier about a mysterious spot on his--"

Draco pulled away and covered his face with his hands. "Ari, tell me you didn't."

"Oh," I gasped, and batted my eyelashes at him. "Oh, of course not. _I _would never do any such thing. But I remembered that you have some Mediwizard training so I told him you would have a look."

"You've been spending too much time with Genevieve," he said severely.

"Maybe," I admitted. "But we don't have to worry until I actually go through with evil plans like that."

"So you didn't volunteer me?"

"No," I said with a satisfied smirk. "I volunteered Snape."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I kept my face coolly composed as I descended the stairs on Draco's arm and pretended to ignore the dozens of jealous eyes that were turned on me. Inwardly, however, I was cackling almost maniacally. Bwahahaha. Eat your shriveled, pathetic little hearts out you evil, catty, cliquey bitches, I thought viciously. He's mine. At least for the next ten to twenty seconds, anyway. But they're ten to twenty seconds every girl in that room would kill for. Some had probably tried already.

Then my twenty seconds were over and Draco went off to talk to some buddies—or cronies, however you want to look at it. I looked around and spotted Genevieve sipping champagne by the piano. She nodded to me as I approached and handed me a glass.

"You look nice," I observed, taking in the slinky blood red dress she was wearing. It left very little to the imagination.

"I know," she said simply, and glanced at me. "You don't look so bad yourself—Narcissa gave you her necklace? She does mean business."

"What do you mean?"

Genevieve smirked. "She wants you for her precious little darling."

"She mentioned something to that effect," I admitted.

"Why the long face? You could do worse than Draco." Genevieve slanted me a glance. "If I were you, I'd smarm up to Narcissa as much as you can and get Draco to propose as soon as you can. Or get pregnant if he won't."

"Why on earth should I do that?" I asked, shocked.

"Listen, pet," she said in a low voice. "It's not safe to be an unattached, wealthy female with no blood relatives these days. Especially when you run with this crowd."

"What are you talking about?" I whispered. "What could anyone--"

Genevieve grabbed my arm and leaned in, giggling as if she were telling me a juicy bit of gossip.

"They're wizards," she hissed. "They could do whatever they wanted to you and what would you be able to do about it?"

"Uncle Mac wouldn't--"

"Use your brain! Why should your uncle bother taking care of you, anyway—he had no idea you had the slightest magical ability when he agreed to it. I've known your uncle a lot longer than you have, Ari—and he wouldn't take in an orphan out of the kindness of his heart. What else does he know about you? Your lycanthropy."

"You know about that?"

"Ari, everyone knows about that," she said witheringly. "Of course, you aren't supposed to know that everyone knows, but there it is. Everyone from the Ministry is here. He wants to showcase you to prove that werewolves aren't monsters."

"Well, that doesn't sound so bad," I said reasonably.

"It wouldn't be-- if all werewolves were harmless like you." Genevieve laughed humorlessly. "But Ari, most werewolves _are_ monsters."

"Why are you telling me these things?" I demanded.

"Because I guarantee you, Ari, your uncle is not what he seems. I didn't realize until recently that you have no idea what's going on—no idea that--"

"Ah, Ariadne!" Genevieve and I turned with perfect smiles in place to greet Uncle Mac and a youngish man with red hair and glasses. "I want you to meet the Minister of Magic—Minister, this is my niece, Ariadne Metaxas. My dear, this is Percival Weasley. He was recently elected Minister of Magic."

"Is it recent enough for congratulations?" I asked with a charming smile, and held my hand out to be shaken. "Minister—may I introduce my friend, Genevieve Dolohov?"

"How nice to meet you both," he said pompously. He glanced at me nervously. "I understand you will be entertaining us tonight, Miss Metaxas?"

"And Draco as well," I replied modestly. "He generously agreed to sing a duet with me before my solo."

"Shy, are you?" Weasley asked in a would-be fatherly tone.

"I'm afraid so," I said, smiling ingenuously.

"Well, I'm sure it will be lovely," he said with a small bow. "I look forward to it."

"Please excuse me," interrupted a cold voice. I turned to see Genevieve's husband, Antonin. "May I steal my wife for a moment? I'm afraid it's urgent."

"No need, Antonin," Genevieve said, sounding bored. "We were finished here anyway."

I noticed with keen interest that Mr. Weasley looked slightly disappointed to see her go. And by slightly disappointed I mean that he looked like Christmas had been canceled for the next five years. Ah, well. Genevieve was beautiful...and I would not be at all surprised if Weasley were a virgin.

Then the bell rang for dinner and everyone drifted into the dining room. I found myself seated next to a woman who looked astonishingly like a toad. Her name was Dolores, she said. Dolores Umbridge. I've met some pretty revolting people in my life and I managed to be charming to every single one of them (even the businessman-slash-child pornographer) but with Umbridge, I was struggling severely. She had this horrible little girl voice that made my skin crawl and an extremely irritating way of talking to me as if I were a two year old. Of course, it was Genevieve who saved me.

"Doesn't Grandmother Toad look ravishing this evening?_"_ she asked in French. _"_She doesn't speak French, don't worry. Sometimes I wonder about her English, really._"_

I blinked and smiled. "I don't think it's that she can't speak English properly. I think it's more that you can't pay attention to what she's saying because at any minute you expect her to start croaking._"_

_"_Tell me, Grandmother Toad, will you croak for us?" Genevieve asked, clearly directing her question at Umbridge, who looked panicked.

_"_Wee?" she squeaked in that hair-raising little girl's voice.

Genevieve and I waited politely for a moment. Then Genevieve gave a superior little sigh.

"I see," she murmured, and smiled at the man next to her, who had clearly understood the exchange and seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

"You speak French well," he told me, and held out a hand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Thank you," I said, grateful for an excuse to ignore Umbridge.

"Ariadne also speaks Spanish, Italian...what else, Ari?"

"Greek," I supplied. "And I'm learning Russian."

"Quite an accomplished young lady, I see," Shacklebolt said with a smile. "I believe I heard someone mention that you would sing for us before the dancing begins."

"Yes," I affirmed, with a glance at Umbridge. "I do hope you enjoy it, Madam Umbridge. I've heard that you're a musician yourself."

"Oh—oh, yes," Umbridge said vaguely. "I was quite an adept penis—pianist--"

"Oh, you simply must play for us!" I gushed.

"I don't know," Umbridge muttered. "My hands—arthritis, you know--"

"Oh, but I can perform a pain-relieving charm for you right now, you silly thing," Genevieve said with a tinkling laugh.

"You don't have to do that--"

"Nonsense," Genevieve said breezily. "It's elementary magic, no trouble at all."

Sadly enough, we were prevented from hearing whatever lame excuse Umbridge might have come up with because Uncle Mac stood up at the head of the table and raised his hand for attention.

"If it pleases you, my good people, the dancing will begin in the ballroom after a brief performance by my niece and none other than our own Draco Malfoy."

"_Ave, Caesar,_" I muttered gloomily, and Genevieve finished for me with a grin.

"_Morituri te salutant_."

I got up to polite applause and dropped a brief curtsy before gliding into the ballroom on Draco's arm. He led the way to the piano and pointed his wand at it. It began to play the piece that I had insisted we practice over and over even though it was relatively simple.

"_Softly through the winter's darkness shines a light_

_Are they angels over head, paused in flight?_

_Or pixies fluttering round his head_

_The little boy, Jesus...safe in bed..."_

It's funny, I mused. I never thought wizards would be very religious. Or maybe they just thought Jesus was a wizard, too. But then, it wouldn't have been much of a miracle, would it? You know, healing cripples, giving sight to a blind man and all that? Well, but there's always the whole returning from the dead thing...I suppose that's somewhat remarkable, even for a wizard.

When the duet ended, we bowed—well, he bowed and I curtsied—and Draco gave me a reassuring smile before joining his mother. I noticed Genevieve seemed to be chatting up Shacklebolt, who appeared to be quite interested in what she had to say. I wonder if her husband noticed. Not likely, I decided. He was too busy flirting with a girl closer to my age.

I moved closer to the piano Draco obligingly flicked his wand at it. It began to play the piece I'd been working on with my voice instructor since I found out about the whole wizard thing. It was in English, but it was still extremely difficult because wizard composers didn't have to worry about an accompanist. Maybe if there were three pianists, people could play the accompaniment to wizard songs, but there was only one piano and it was played by magic. It was like Hindemith on crack. But it was very pretty and therein lies the difference.

When I was finished, everyone clapped and I smiled. The applause wasn't exactly thunderous, but it was definitely more than polite. Draco kept his face as cool as he always did when in public, but I could tell he was pleased. Well, so was I. I'd done a good job.

"Well, let the dancing begin," Uncle Mac declared, and an enchanted string quartet began to play.

Draco appeared at my elbow. "May I have the first dance?"

"Certainly," I replied promptly, and took his hand.

"You sang well," he remarked as he twirled me around the dance floor.

"Thank you," I said, fixing my gaze somewhere around his left ear. I'd never been this close to him before—at close range those silver eyes were quite unsettling. "So did you."

"We sound good together," he said, and gave me a smile that made my knees go weak. He leaned forward to whisper in my ear. "I bet we look good together, too."

I laughed, trying to keep my voice light. "_I _bet you'll say that to every girl you dance with tonight."

"No," he said with another heart-stopping smile. "Only the prettiest."

I blushed and looked down, unable to think of anything to say to this.

"Ari, are you going to look at me at all?"

I raised my eyes to his and for one breathtaking moment I thought he was going to kiss me. But then a tall black man tapped his shoulder and took his place. I shook my head slightly, trying to rid myself of a queer, dizzy feeling. I smiled at the newcomer.

"Blaise Zabini," he introduced himself.

"Ariadne Metaxas," I replied. "So—er, are you enjoying the party?"

"I am now," he said with what he clearly thought was a dashing smile.

I smiled back politely.

"Draco tells me you're from America," he commented, and I nodded. "Are you enjoying England? Not too much of a culture shock, I hope?"

"Not really," I shrugged. "Uncle Mac's house elf has been preparing familiar food and I pretty much keep to Greenwood. I guess I haven't been exposed to enough English culture to be shocked by it yet. Except puddings."

"Puddings?" Blaise asked, confused.

"In America, pudding is just a dessert with the consistency of yogurt," I explained, and shifted away slightly as he attempted to cop a feel. "When someone offered me black pudding for the first time, I thought they were playing a joke on me."

"Ah, I see," Blaise said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. His right hand drifted a bit lower than was strictly necessary and he tried to pull me closer. I stepped on his foot.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, pulling away. "I'm just a bit dizzy—I think I need some water."

"Of course," Blaise grunted, wincing, and limped away.

I smirked and seated myself on a bench and watched Draco make some girl blush and giggle. I scowled, thinking back on what Eros had told me those weeks ago. He'd said I would fall in love with Draco, but he hadn't necessarily said that Draco would fall in love with me. Wonderful. Just fan-frickin-tastic. I wasn't in love with Draco—yet. But I had a feeling I was headed in that direction. But what about him? He could have any girl he wanted—and there were plenty to choose from.

Blaise never did come back with my drink and none of the other men seemed to want to approach me even though I had seen them glance my way from time to time. I sighed, remembering how it was at school. And here I'd thought it had worn off or something. Then why didn't it affect Draco or Mr. Mac? Or that Kingsley person? Or Genevieve or Narcissa?

I was still pondering this when Draco suddenly appeared by my side with a cup of something sweet smelling. I accepted it with a smile and took a sip. It was good—and non-alcoholic, to boot. It had an interestingly zingy taste to it.

"This is tasty," I remarked. "What is it?"

"Flameflower nectar," he replied, taking a seat next to me. "From Brazil. It's watered down, of course. Why aren't you dancing?"

I shrugged. "No one seems to want to dance with me."

"Ah, well," Draco said wisely. "One man's trash--"

"Are you calling me trash?" I demanded, shoving him.

"Of course not, darling," he exclaimed. "I was just pointing out that just because not a man here would come near you with a ten foot pole--"

"Ha," I grumbled. "Ha, ha. And also, ha."

I sighed and looked at my feet.

"Oh, come on, Ari," he said, bumping his shoulder against mine. "You don't want a whole lot of wrinkly old men pawing at you anyway."

"Not all of them are old," I pointed out. "Blaise was rather good looking even if he is a complete cretin."

"He is that," Draco agreed.

"I know it's because I'm a werewolf," I said. "People reacted like this at school after I was bitten. I thought it had worn off or that wizards weren't affected by it or something. I guess not."

"What made you think that?" Draco asked curiously.

"Well—you and Uncle Mac, for starters," I told him, startled. "And your mother and Genevieve. And that Kingsley guy."

"Your aunt was a werewolf," Draco reminded me. "Genevieve's been exposed to a lot worse than werewolves—look at what she's married to. And my mother likes you too much to let silly instincts get in the way. Kingsley—well, I suppose he's just a nice fellow."

"And what about you?" I asked, a little hesitantly. "You never seemed to be afraid of me, even when you first met me. Your mother was."

Draco gave me a considering look. "You intrigued me. And, besides, I have my own...talents."

"You're not a werewolf," I said flatly, and sniffed at him playfully. "Nope. All human."

"No, I'm not a werewolf," he said. "I'm an Animagus."

"What's that?" I asked. "That little girl, Katie—she thought I was one.."

"An Animagus is a wizard who can take on a certain animal form at will," Draco explained. "It's very difficult—took me almost four years to learn how."

"What do you turn into?" I asked curiously.

Draco smiled. "Maybe I'll show you sometime."

"Why don't you come running with me?" I suggested hopefully.

Draco shook his head. "I have to work most nights."

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Secret," he said with a smile. He got up and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, beautiful. Dance with me."

The rest of the night was too wonderful to put into words. Sure, no one but Draco wanted to dance with me, but that worked out to my advantage since Draco didn't dance with anyone but me. And he was a perfect gentleman about it, too—no groping, pawing, or wandering hands. The entire time I could feel jealous eyes burning holes in the back of my head. I had to work extremely hard not to smirk too obviously.

At around midnight, the guests left and Draco walked me to my room. My nerves were buzzing pleasantly, as if I'd had a glass of warm wine. I smiled up at him when we reached my door.

"Thank you," I said. "You didn't have to, you know."

"Have to what?" he asked. "Walk you to your room? It's not exactly one of the twelve labors of Hercules. Even as ornery as you are."

"No, I mean spending the evening with me. You didn't have to. But I appreciated it."

"It was my pleasure," Draco said softly, and kissed my cheek. "Good night, Ari."

I froze and stood there in shock and watched him walk away. As I struggled to remember how to breathe, Draco turned and grinned, breaking the mood. "I hope you've gotten me something good for Christmas."

I nodded faintly and staggered into my room, where I pinched myself sharply.

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself. "He's just a..." but he wasn't a boy... "guy. Man. Whatever."

But as I retreated into the bathroom, I could have sworn I heard an echo of laughter.


	6. Marry Me, Darling

I woke up the next morning with a light heart. It was Christmas, after all. I bounced out of bed and into the bathroom, where I put on Cat Stevens' "Teaser and the Firecat" album and had a nice, long bubble bath and shower. I breathed in deeply and exhaled, sinking under the surface. How I love bubble baths.

When I finally got out, I dressed in a soft, fawn-colored skirt that floated around my calves and a loose, comfortable white blouse. I towel-dried my hair and secured it loosely with a clip. Today was to be a comfy day. I padded barefoot down the hall and stopped at Draco's door—or what I was pretty sure was Draco's door. What I hoped was Draco's door. With a shrug, I knocked and waited. Just when I was beginning to think it was a broom closet or something, the door opened and Draco stuck his head out.

"Ari, what are you doing?" he croaked.

"Merry Christmas," I said cheerfully, stifling a giggle. His hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were all bleary. I could see that he'd been sleeping with his head on his hand from the large hand print on the left side of his face.

Draco closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door frame. "Ari, it's seven-thirty in the morning."

"Yup. I'm a half-hour late." I smiled sweetly. "But I was just enjoying my bubble-bath so much."

"It's seven-thirty in the morning," he repeated, sounding aggrieved.

"Yes, I know. Get dressed, we need to open presents," I said as cheerily as I could.

"Bollocks. I'm going back to bed," he said flatly.

"Fine. I'll wait for you."

Before he could protest, I slipped inside and sat down on the couch. I bounced up and down a couple of times, admiring the cushiness, and smiled up at him. My smile froze and my breath caught in my throat. He was shirtless and barefoot, clad only in an extremely old and faded pair of jeans. He had a tattoo of some sort on his left forearm as well as runes or symbols surrounded by celtic knot work around his biceps. As he turned to look longingly into his room, I saw a mean-looking black dragon tattooed onto his left shoulder blade. It appeared to be fighting with a leopard or panther—also black—on the right shoulder blade. Jesus. He scowled darkly at me and ran a hand through his already tussled hair, drawing my attention away from the tattoos. Then he shook his head and disappeared into the other room without a word. A second later, I heard a muffled thump.

I sat back and let out my breath all at once. My god, what a body. And the tattoos. I've always been a sucker for tattoos. I think. Mmmm...well, no. Come to think of it, I had never really cared much for tattoos—until I saw Draco's. Genevieve's advice to get pregnant by Draco was sounding better and better. Then I shook myself and looked around. The room was tastefully furnished, but with a much darker motif than my room. It was very nice. After about three minutes, I decided I'd given him enough time and cleared my throat.

"_Oh, the duck says "Quack",  
and the cow says "Moo",  
the old red rooster says  
"Cock-a-doodle-doo".  
The sheep says "Baa",  
and the cat says "Meow",  
but I say "Good Morning"  
when I see you!"_

To be fair, I listened for any sounds from the other room. Then I grinned and launched into another one.

"_This is the way we start the day  
Start the day, start the day,  
This is the way we start the day,  
So early in the morning._

_First we smile and shake a hand,  
Shake a hand, shake a hand,  
First we smile and shake a hand,  
So early in the morning.."_

I finished that one and sang through every song my first grade teacher had ever sung to us (and everyone hated except for me). I was really getting into the swing of it after maybe fifteen minutes—Draco lasted longer than I thought he would—when I heard some stomping and the sound of a shower turning on. With a satisfied smirk, I crossed one leg over the other and folded my hands primly in my lap.

When Draco emerged a few minutes later in a pair of slightly less wrinkled jeans and a button-down shirt, I thought about greeting him with a song, but decided not to risk it. He looked about ready to kill me. His face, though a bit pink as if it had been scrubbed vigorously, was slightly stubbly and his wet hair stood up in spikes. The cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned, as were the top few buttons (the rest were buttoned incorrectly) and the collar stood up on one side. One eyelid drooped lower than the other.

"G-g-good morning," I choked, trying desperately not to laugh and failing spectacularly.

Draco glared murderously at me and jerked the door open. With a pointed look at the door, he leaned against it and waited. Holding a hand over my mouth in an attempt to forcibly contain my laughter, I darted by him to avoid any outbursts of uncontrollable rage. He slammed the door shut after him and stalked down the hallway looking like an offended cat.

We arrived in the family dining room to see Uncle Mac seated at the table in a bathrobe and slippers. He was drinking tea and reading the newspaper. I grinned and waved as I took my place and Draco practically fell into his chair, pillowed his head on his arms and, to all appearances, went to asleep.

"You get up early on Christmas, too?" I asked, pouring myself a glass of orange juice and sprinkling some granola on my yogurt.

"Ordinarily, no," Uncle Mac said ruefully. "But I heard you singing and was too...enthused...to go back to sleep."

"My first grade teacher used to sing to us to wake us up in the morning," I chirped. I cast a glance at Draco, who was still passed out on the table. "I think I'd better give Draco his present now."

I ran into the parlor and snatched his present from under the tree, which had real pixies clinging to the branches. I brought it back to the dining room and prodded the back of his head. He grunted and looked up with a baleful glare.

"What?"

"Your present," I replied, holding it out to him.

Draco groaned and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up at my expectant face and sighed. As he unwrapped the bag of gourmet coffee beans, I called for Cinders and she came out of the kitchen bearing a large mug of coffee. I took it from her and set it down in front of him. Draco stared at it wonderingly for a moment and then downed it so fast I was surprised he didn't scald his throat.

"You stole my idea," Uncle Mac said with a frown. "I got him coffee."

"The more, the better," Draco gasped, panting. He slanted me a glance. "I need it after your performance this morning. Nails on chalkboard never sounded so sweet."

"Ah! I knew you enjoyed it!"

"Swear to me that you'll never do that again. _Ever_."

"Not until next Christmas, anyway," I agreed. "Now, come on!"

I led the way into the parlor and tossed a package to Uncle Mac and Draco. I reached for a large present from Soula, but Draco handed me another one. It was from him. I ripped off the paper after staring at it for a moment—the stars on it were actually twinkling—and pulled out an enormous bottle of bubble bath and a book entitled _Flames of Desire._ The cover depicted a swooning woman in a tight red bodice and a shirtless man in tight trousers. And they were _moving_. I stared at it for a minute. So that's what a heaving bosom looks like, I thought.

"I thought a cheesy romance novel was the best way to introduce you to wizarding literature," Draco said with a grin. "And you seem to spend a lot of time in the bathtub, so..."

"I love it," I laughed, and applied myself to Soula's present. I gave a small squeal of delight when I discovered a brand-new guitar.

"You play the guitar, too?" Uncle Mac asked. "Heavens, child, is there anything you don't do?"

"How come we've never heard you play?" Draco demanded.

"I gave my guitar to my cousin before I left so she could learn," I explained while tuning it.

"Here, open this," Uncle Mac said, handing me a box, which yielded a neatly folded, dark gray something. I took it out and saw that it was a hooded cloak with gold embroidery along the hem. "You'll need that when you go into the wizarding parts of London," he explained.

"It's lovely," I said, and draped it over my shoulders.

I picked up a small box and tossed it to Draco. "It's from your mother."

Draco opened it and stared at it for a few seconds. I craned my neck, trying to see what it was, but he tucked it into his pocket. I shrugged and turned back to the waiting pile of presents. I had a delightful time opening them and spent the rest of the morning playing my new guitar and singing. I taught Draco some songs and he taught me a few songs in return. We had a wonderful Christmas meal and Draco took me to see a play in a place called Diagon Alley that afternoon. I wore my new cloak. It was like a dream. There were witches and wizards walking around talking about potions and brooms and carrying owls or ravens on their shoulders. We went to a bank called Gringotts, where he showed me where all of my money had been stored (as gold!). Now that I knew about the wizarding world, I could keep the key to my vault for myself. It was so cool—and it was run by _goblins_.

To summarize, it was the most awesome day of my life. And the next couple of months were up there, too. Draco and I spent nearly all our free time together and some of my lesson time as well (Draco was an excellent swordsman and rider as well as a singer). He took me to a fancy restaurant in Diagon Alley for my birthday and bought me a pair of lovely silver earrings. I wondered what I could possibly get him for his birthday, which was in May. Ah, well, there was plenty of time between now and then.

What I loved most about spending time with Draco was that he treated me like a human being, not an accessory like Jared did. The fact that he was fond of buying me little presents and treating me like a princess didn't hurt at all, either. Well, it made up for the occasional—and by occasional I mean almost every morning—hurling of epithets like "poxy cow", "nosy bint", "sadistic monster", and my personal favorite, "Miss Smiley Sodding Sunshine". Although I often got the impression that he wanted to (insults notwithstanding), he never did more than kiss my cheek or my hand. It confused me, but life was still pretty sweet. Until one day in early March.

I was in my room, strumming my guitar and humming, when Draco burst in. He looked terrible—his eyes were sunken and his face haggard and unshaven. His clothes were rumpled and his hair a mess. I hadn't seen him this unkempt since Christmas. I set my guitar aside and stood up anxiously, too concerned to care that I was wearing my oldest, rattiest jeans and a faded sweatshirt.

"Draco?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

"My mother is dead," he said harshly.

I gasped. "Oh, no...Draco, I'm so sorry..."

He shook his head and pulled me into my bedroom.

"Pack whatever clothes you can spare," he said. "Quickly."

"Draco--"

"Ari, please, just trust me." Draco dragged a suitcase out from under my bed. "Go on, put in whatever you won't need for the next few weeks."

I frowned, but did as he asked and threw in my summer skirts and blouses, a sweatshirt, a pair of old, thin jeans and some T-shirts.

"You're vault key, too," he said, and I handed it to him. "You have enough to last for a couple of weeks?"

I nodded and Draco zippered the suitcase shut and tapped it with his wand. It shrunk to the size of a thumbnail. I watched in consternation as he tapped it again and it transformed into a gold cross. He tapped it once more and muttered something.

"Keep this on at all times," he told me. "Don't take it off for anything. Understand?"

"No," I said angrily. "I don't. Are we going somewhere?"

"I am," he said tightly. "I have to leave for a little while."

"Leave—why?" I asked, throat constricting. "Draco, what's going on? This isn't just about your mother, is it?"

"I can't explain now," he said. "I shouldn't even be here—if he catches me..." Draco shook himself. "Please, promise me you won't take the necklace off until I see you again."

"Sure," I said, confused. "I promise—but when--"

"I don't know," he interrupted curtly. "But until then—don't trust your uncle, Ari. He's using you, but don't act as if anything is amiss. You'll find out soon enough what he wants and you must not give in. I'll come for you, I promise."

He twitched nervously as if he could hear something and pulled me close. I could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage. Draco...afraid? I felt fear race through my own veins. What could possibly be bad enough to scare Draco? I lifted my face to ask him, but, with a chaste kiss on my forehead, he disappeared.

I sat down on the bed, stunned. What in the world had just happened? I looked down at the necklace in my hand and fastened it around my neck. I didn't know what was going on, but I wasn't going to wait around any more. I stood up and marched out of the room.

In the hallway, I looked around. I don't know what I expected to see, but it couldn't hurt. Then I set off in the direction of Uncle Mac's study. I knew he was away on "business" for the day, so I should have plenty of time. I hoped, anyway. But I had to take the opportunity. Who knew when he'd be out of the house next?

As I turned the last corner before Uncle Mac's study, I nearly had a heart attack. A lean, whippy blond youth with winged helmet and sandals leaned against the wall. He grinned cheekily at me as I approached and winked. I grinned back. Hermes wasn't nearly as irritating as Eros.

"I'd hoped you might show up," I said.

"Why do you think I'm here?" he replied, shrugging. "Turning your hand to thievery, are you?"

"Possibly," I said carefully. "I was thinking more along the lines of some nice, general sort of sneaking. But thievery is a possibility."

"What for?" he asked curiously.

"I want to find out what my uncle is up to," I said grimly. "Two people have warned me that he's not what he seems, and I happen to trust one of those people with my life."

"Wait a moment," Hermes said slowly. "Who did you say was up to something?"

"My uncle," I said impatiently. "Uncle Mac."

"You mean the master of this house."

I stared at him. Was he being dense on purpose? "Yes, both Draco and Genevieve told me he's not what he seems and--"

"Well, he certainly isn't what he seems if you think he's your uncle," Hermes exploded. "I don't know who he is, but he's definitely not your uncle."

"Well, no, he isn't related by blood—but he married my mother's sister."

"No," Hermes said, shaking his head. "That man isn't any relation of yours, by blood or marriage."

"Oh." I blinked. "Well. Okay. That's...that's kind of scary. He's not my uncle. Okay. I can deal. Let's figure out what this...person wants with me."

I moved to open the door, but Hermes stopped me. "You'd better let me. He's got powerful enchantments on the door."

"Are you a wizard?" I asked. "I mean, a really powerful wizard? Is that what gods are?"

Hermes gave me a dirty look. "Certainly not. These petty magics don't even affect the gods. Wizards are human, Ariadne. Remember that. They may have magic, but they are still only human."

With an ironic bow, Hermes stepped aside and let me pass. When I turned around, he was gone. I rolled my eyes. Drama queen. I looked around the study and was disappointed by the...normalness. I scowled around the room. There must be something out of the ordinary. I reached for his desk drawer and stopped. I shouldn't touch anything, I realized. Wizards probably had some magical fingerprinting method.

I smiled. Finally, I could use my magic for something useful. I crooked my finger and the drawer opened. There was nothing there but a box of chocolates. I sniffed experimentally. The scent of magic was faint, but present. It wasn't coming from the desk. I wandered around the room with my nose in the air, trying to pinpoint the smell. I'm sure I must have looked absurd, but I was too engrossed in my mission to care. Eventually I narrowed it down to a corner of the ceiling. I studied it carefully and saw the faint outline of a trap door. But how to get it open? I tried pushing at it with my magic, but that didn't work.

Suddenly I had an absolutely ridiculous idea (which meant it was probably gods-sent). I went back to the desk and motioned to the box of chocolates, which floated onto the desktop. After some trial and error, I discovered I could open the box without touching it by moving my hands as if I were touching it and concentrating. It was rather confusing, so I tried not to think about it too much. Inside lay a wrapper. And it wasn't crumpled up--or even slightly wrinkly. It was perfectly smooth. I floated the wrapper out of the box and up the ceiling, where it settled in the center of the trapdoor. The door fell open and the stink of magic gushed out. Thank you, Hermes, I thought with a grin.

But how to get inside, I wondered. I thought for a moment then took off my sweatshirt. I held it up. Up, I thought firmly. Go up. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I felt like I was splitting my mind in half; one half was dangling from the sweatshirt and the other was pulling me up. It was very weird. It was also physically tiring. By the time I made it into the trap door, I was panting and my head was throbbing fiercely.

I looked around the dimly lit room, noting the weird looking instruments and jars that littered the place. There was another desk in the center. I pulled the same trick that I used with the other desk, this time with better results. There were several pages of notes stuck in some books on werewolves and what looked like the genealogies for several families. I frowned and started to read through some of the notes. Most of it was about how the curse was transferred.

I scanned the page and blinked. Huh. It was genetic. Or, at least, it seemed to run in families. And doctor Stanley had implied that not everyone survived the bite. Yes, there it was on the page...only those who survive the bite are turned into werewolves. So werewolves must have had a genetic predisposition for it, otherwise they would have died when they were bitten. But what were the genealogies for? There was a connection there, I knew it. Suddenly I couldn't think clearly. What was happening? It was right under my nose—why couldn't I make that final step?

Suddenly a slight shimmer caught my eye. I made may way carefully across the room and saw a shiny, silky veil that seemed to shimmer first blue, then silver, and sometimes purple. I stood there for a moment, mesmerized, then shook myself. I looked at it more closely and saw that there were scorched spots, as if something had burned through the material. Something (Hermes, most likely) told me I should see what was under it. I raised my hand and the veil rose with it, revealing a perfect wax miniature of myself, right down to my favorite dress and shoes. In my shock, I nearly let the veil fall.

As soon as the veil was lifted, several things became clear. This was why I kept losing interest when I started to wonder about things. This was why it took me so long to wonder what Uncle Mac did for a living. He had pulled the wool—or whatever it was—over my eyes quite literally. I also realized now that I had never told Uncle Mac that I was an unusual werewolf. So how did he know? An image of a spider flashed across my mind.

There had been a spider in the room when Dr. Stanley told me that I was a werewolf, and again when I told him that I was changing early. I remembered running in the woods and finding a scent that changed from human to something I couldn't identify. I had a pretty good feeling that the strange scent had been that of a spider. It was probably a whatchamacallit—an Animagus.

I glanced back at the genealogies and felt the blood seep out of my face. If susceptibility to the curse was genetic, it stood to reason that my unique traits were genetic, too. And if Uncle Mac was looking for wizards with werewolves in the family...well, then. I had to resist the urge to sit down. He was going to use me as breeding stock.

I took a deep breath and replaced everything the way I had found it. The veil now had a rather large hole in it. I looked at the charred edges nervously and rearranged it slightly so the hole wouldn't be immediately visible. I looked around nervously. I had to get out of there. I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, as if a layer of protection had been stripped away.

My head hurt like hell and I felt oddly drained. I didn't think I could get down using magic. I squatted next to the trapdoor and looked down. No, it was too far to jump. I'd sprain an ankle at the very least. And anyway, the door was closed and I didn't want to get zapped or whatever. I looked around again. The study seemed to be in a kind of loft. The rafters above looked like they might extend beyond the walls of the study. That was worth looking into. But how to get up there?

I glanced around. There was nothing. I looked up at the rafters and held my hands up. It was maybe three or four feet above my arms. And there was a bare bit of wall there. I could probably propel myself off the wall if I got a running start. I eyed the rafters warily. They seemed smooth enough, but getting out of this without a few splinters was probably too much to hope for. Especially since I wasn't wearing any shoes.

"Ugh," I groaned. This was going to hurt. But I got as far away from the wall as I could and fixed my eyes on the spot I needed to hit. "Here we go..."

I sprinted at the wall and rocketed upward, kicking off from the wall. I snatched at the beam wildly—and missed. I fell the floor with a dull thud. I got up, biting my lip. That hurt, but nothing was damaged. And I could have gotten the beam but I had timed it wrong. I just had to try again, that's all.

It actually took me a couple more times to get it, but I finally snagged the beam and swung myself up. I lay there for a minute, panting, and then crawled along the beam. I got out of the workshop, but I had no idea where I was. Wherever it was, it was miserable—hot, dusty, smelly, and cramped. I just kept going until I caught a whiff of fresh air. I followed it eagerly and spotted a small, circular window. I looked out and nearly cried with relief. It opened onto a slanted roof, but it wasn't steep and there was a tree growing right next to it. I just had to hop a little and swing myself onto a branch and make my way down. Which I did, but not without getting scratched, scraped, and poked repeatedly.

When I finally staggered into my room sometime later, I made a beeline for the bathroom and didn't emerge for a good three hours. When I did, it was nearly time for dinner. I hauled myself out of the tub, and dried myself off, wincing as my many bruises and scrapes protested. I looked at the jeans laid out on my bed and shuddered. The thought of pulling those over my raw, shredded knees was unbearable. I wore a skirt long enough to cover my knees and put on a soft, loose sweater instead. But even that made my cuts sting every time I moved.

Even though I had fulfilled my shock quota for the day and more, I was nevertheless shocked to see my Unc...Person Mac sitting calmly at the dinner table and a stranger sitting in Draco's place. He looked to be somewhere between thirty and thirty-five. He was tall and lean--almost thin, but not quite—with black hair and hard gray eyes. Not silver, like Draco's, but gray. A cold, dead gray--like slate. He scared me. Even without the tell-tale hint of wolf in his scent that proclaimed him a werewolf.

"Ariadne, my dear," Mac greeted me. "I would like you to meet my good friend Ira Bellum."

"How do you do?" I murmured and shook his hand without looking him in the eye. To The Man Posing As My Uncle, I said, "Where is Draco? Didn't you say he was coming home tonight?"

"Draco has been called home," Man Who Was Not My Uncle replied smoothly. "His mother is unwell, poor chap. He will likely be gone for a few weeks."

I resisted the urge to snort. 'Unwell'. Yes, dead people generally are. Instead, I put a hand to my mouth and said, "Oh, no...I hope it's not serious..."

"It's nothing," he assured me. "I think she's just worried and feels more comfortable with Draco at home."

"I'm sure she does," I murmured, and sat down.

"May I pour you a drink?" Mr. Bellum asked politely. I shivered; his voice was as cold as his eyes.

"Yes, thank you," I replied, and accepted the goblet of wine he handed me.

Suddenly Eros was at my side. I stiffened in surprise but didn't jump.

"Don't drink it," he said urgently. "It has a powerful love potion in it. Pretend to drink it but don't let a single drop of it touch your lips."

I obeyed and set the goblet down with trembling hands. Both The Impostor and Mr. Bellum were leaning forward eagerly.

"Smile at the tall one," Eros urged me. "Go on."

I smiled sweetly and Mr. Bellum, who smirked back. I would have dearly loved to smack that smart-ass smile off his face but I was too afraid. Fake Uncle Mac leaned forward and took my hand in his. My stomach clenched painfully but I kept smiling.

"Mr. Bellum is a wonderful man, you know," The Impostor told me. "He's very rich and of impeccable breeding."

Breeding is right, I thought darkly. You sick bastard. But I kept smiling.

"Say something," Eros whispered.

"You've forgotten handsome," I said breathlessly, peeking through my eyelashes at Mr. Bellum.

"Indeed," Sick Bastard agreed. "And I'm glad you think so. He has come to ask for my blessing."

"Blessing?"

"To marry you," Mr. Bellum explained, as if to a child. "Will you marry me, Ariadne?"

"Don't say yes," Eros warned me. "If you say yes, it's binding."

"But we've only just met," I giggled. "I really must think about it first."

"If you must," Mr. Bellum sighed. "But you must know that I am very much in love with you."

I laughed. Even as terrified as I was, I couldn't help it. It was just so ridiculously fake. I managed to turn it into a ditzy giggle and let Mr. Bellum kiss my hand before rising. I giggled again as vacuously as I could.

"What was that noise you just made?" Eros said in tones of deepest revulsion. "Never do that again. Every time you do that a kitten dies."

I choked back my laughter with difficulty and smiled at Bellum.

"Aren't you going to finish your dinner?" Fake Uncle Mac asked.

"Oh, I'm much too excited to eat another bite," I said, still smiling. I batted my eyelashes at Mr. Bellum. "Goodnight, Mr. Bellum."

I beat a hasty retreat and Eros followed. Once in my room, I thew myself on the bed and started laughing and crying hysterically. I didn't snap out of it until Eros slapped me sharply across the cheek.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Someone might have heard."

"Thanks," I said ruefully, rubbing my cheek. "Did Hermes tell you what we found out? He was with me in the attic, am I right?"

"Yes," Eros replied. "They want to use you as a brood mare."

"Really, don't water it down for my sake," I said dryly. "But here's the thing—there's, like, a point-two percent chance of it actually working."

"Why?" Eros asked. "They've obviously found matches with werewolf blood in them."

"You're a god," I said, almost accusingly. "You don't know anything about genetics."

"Parents pass on traits to their children," Eros said with a shrug.

"Have you ever wondered why two people with brown eyes can have a child with blue eyes?" I asked. "Look, this is how it works: what we look like, what talents we have, what immunities we have, and so on are all determined by what we call 'genes' that are passed down from parent to child." Eros nodded. "Now, there are two kinds of genes: dominant and recessive. A dominant gene is always expressed, while a recessive gene is not. So, if two people have a dominant gene for brown eyes and a recessive gene for blue eyes, then they both have brown eyes because brown is the dominant gene. But if they both pass on the recessive gene to their child, the child will have blue eyes because he has two recessive genes."

"I understand," Eros said slowly. "You're saying that for your child to have your same abilities, you would have to have the correct match for your genes."

"Right," I confirmed. "And we don't know whether the genes for my abilities are a dominant and a recessive or two recessives or what. And he might not have the gene at all. So the gene that I pass on would have to be dominant for it to be expressed. And since werewolves are rare and I'm the only known werewolf with these traits, I think we can safely assume that the gene is recessive. So unless he had a recessive gene of the same type floating around, it just wouldn't work. This is vastly over-simplified, you understand, but the concept is sound. I'm simply a freak of nature and I'd need another freak of nature to make baby freaks of nature."

"Well," Eros said. "This changes things."

"Is that all they want me for?" I asked desperately. "If I explained it to them, then they would see that they don't need me anymore and--"

"And probably kill you, or worse," Eros interrupted. "No, you need to stall until Lover Boy comes for you."

"Draco," I breathed, and suddenly I felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice down my back. "He—he must have been the first match. That's why he was here, that's why he was so nice to me--"

"So what?" Eros said rudely. "Are you going to tell me that you would have minded marrying him?"

Frankly, I would have been thrilled.

"That's not the point," I snapped. "He's as bad as that pervert downstairs. He lied to me."

"Didn't I tell you you could trust him?" Eros demanded peevishly. "He's trying to protect you. If he had told you, you would have flown off the handle and 'that pervert downstairs' would have had to eliminate you. Now, if you have any sense, you'll do as he told you and wait for him. I'm too far from home—I must leave soon. So don't do anything stupid."

"But what do I tell Bellum?" I asked. "I can only keep up the giggling so long before they get suspicious. How well was that potion supposed to work, anyway?"

"You should have thrown yourself into Ira's arms the moment he asked you," said a dangerous voice. The Impostor was there in the doorway. "I don't know how you found out about my plans or who you are talking to, but I must say I am impressed. And very grateful to you for finding such an egregious flaw. But what shall I do with you, if you can't give me what I need?"

Suddenly I realized Eros was gone. I was alone.

"Who are you?" I asked, heart pounding. "I know you're not my uncle. Who are you?"

"You don't need to know that," he said. "Now. If you are indeed correct, you are useless to me."

"Are you going to kill me?" I whispered. His wand thing was out. If I changed, no doubt he would.

"No," he said, raking his eyes over my body. "No, I don't believe I will. I am a man of business, I have never lied about that. And I think I can still make a profit out of this little adventure."

I did not like the way he was looking at me. "What are you--"

"_Stupefy_!" A jet of red light exploded from his wand and hit me in the chest. _Stupefy_? I thought incredulously. What a stupid spell. And then everything went dark.

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le gasp! what will dear Uncle Mac do with her! Dun dun DUNNN!


	7. This Really Sucks

thanks for all the lovely reviews--here you go and enjoy!

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When I awoke, I found myself in a soft, comfortable bed. I sat up a bit groggily and looked around. I felt like I had woken up inside a wedding cake. Everything was covered in white lace and pink ribbons. I looked down and saw that I was wearing...a wedding dress. Or a portion of it, anyway. A small portion. It was white, skin tight dress with a long, transparent veil and a skirt that barely covered my ass. Which was a problem, because my underwear had disappeared, as had my bra. My hand flew to my neck and I let out a breath of relief. My necklace was still here.

I ripped the veil off angrily and stalked over to the closet. More lingerie. Well, disgusting, uncomfortable underwear was better than no underwear at all. I picked out the only pair of underwear that wasn't a thong and a sort of corset. I laced it up and felt somewhat better, but still undeniably naked with my ass hanging out of the skimpy underpants.

I poked around in some chests and found several sheets and pillowcases. I pulled out a dark red sheet and shook it out. This would do. I cut it down to size with my claws (I could change any part of my body I wanted as much as I wanted—I didn't have to go wolf all at once) and tied it around my waist like a sarong. I glanced in the mirror and grinned. I was covered—more or less--and I didn't look half-bad, either.

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. Well, I guess I knew what The Disgusting Pig's business was. It was obvious that I was in a whorehouse of some sort. I was grossed out and extremely pissed off, but not as worried as I might be. I could change, after all. The big thing now was to get out. I crossed to the door and tried the knob. It was locked--but then, I was sort of expecting that. All I could do was wait.

To be safe, I changed and curled up in front of the door. I didn't want to be human if someone knocked me unconscious again. And if anyone came in there was always the option of tearing his throat out and running like hell. I suddenly had a mental image of Unknown Pervert drowning in a puddle of his own blood and growled with pleasure.

When the door opened, I sprang forward only to hit some sort of barrier and fall to the ground. I rolled to my feet and stood stiff-legged and snarling. Sir Formerly Uncle Mac stood there, smirking. He was pointing his wand at me.

"So predictable," he sneered. "How do you like your new accommodations? I have no doubt you have grasped the irony already. I've come to let you know that Ira is awaiting your invitation eagerly." He laughed at the expression of disgust that was apparently obvious even on my wolf's face. "I know what you're thinking. Your invitation? Preposterous. But you should know, my dear, that unless you comply, you will not eat, you will not drink, and you will not sleep. When you decide you want to get to know my good friend Ira a bit better, simply knock on the door and someone will fetch him. Good day to you."

If wolves gaped with open mouths, no doubt I would have done so. Unfortunately, they didn't, so I settled for ripping up a fluffy, beribboned pillow and scattering feathers around the room. Then I changed back and began inspecting every nook and cranny of the room in hopes of finding something useful. I found some interesting...er, accessories, but nothing that would help me escape. My stomach growled and I ignored it. I swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in my throat. With a groan of frustration, I flopped down on the bed and stared moodily at the ceiling until the door opened again.

I sat up quickly, expecting the Pervert or Bellum, but it was just a girl. A gloriously beautiful girl with a sheet of white blond hair, pale blue eyes, perfect skin, and a dainty, fairy-like figure. She managed to make the ridiculous French maid costume she was wearing look halfway decent. I was no chunker myself, but she made me feel positively manly. My eyes suddenly fell to the small figure at her side. It was a monkey—but not.

"Hermes," I blurted. "What are you _doing_?"

Monkey-Hermes glared and chattered angrily. "I'm getting you out of here, stupid."

"Do you need to be a monkey to accomplish this?"

"No, I needed to be a monkey to get _her _to come," he pouted. "I can't reveal myself to just anyone, you know."

"But a monkey?"

"Shut up, mortal," he snapped. "Or I might reconsider."

"Right," I muttered.

"Are you talking to Henri?" the girl asked. She had a heavy French accent.

"Is Henri the monkey?" I asked in French. "If so, then yes."

"You speak French? How wonderful! My English is not very good...Is he a sorcerer's familiar?" she asked, genuinely curious. "He spoke to me and said I must release you."

"He's a god," I said, with an accusing glare at Hermes. "Hermes. The messenger of the gods, the god of thieves, shepherds, merchants, and other random things. But he is _not_ a god of monkeys."

"Thank you for that news flash, mother," Hermes said caustically. "Now, come on, we have some errands to run before you get out of here."

"By errands, I take it you mean robbery," I commented.

"Exactly."

"What is he saying?" the French girl asked. If she thought it was weird that I was talking to a monkey who was really a god, she hid it well.

"We have to steal something before we leave," I told her. "I assume you're coming with me since he brought you."

"Leave?" she gasped. "We're going to escape?"

"I suppose," I shrugged. "If _Henri_ decides to indulge us."

Hermes made an ugly monkey-face at me in response and scampered away. The French girl and I followed. Unconsciously, I moved less like a pissed off mother looking for someone to spank and more like...well, like the French fairy next to me.

"Hey, what's your name, anyway?" I asked.

"Gabrielle," she said. "And you?"

"Call me Ari," I said, and looked at her. "Aren't you a little young to be in a place like this?"

"Me? I'm old enough to be a veteran," she returned, laughing humorlessly. "Death Eaters kidnapped me while I was on my way to visit family. I've been here for six months."

"Did you...I mean, did they--"

"Yes," Gabrielle whispered, her lovely face contorting in pain and revulsion. "Yes."

We continued in silence. Hermes climbed onto my shoulder and whispered directions in my ear. I had no idea where we were going, but we seemed to be going down a lot of stairs. I nearly freaked when someone approached us in the hall, but Gabrielle turned her nose up haughtily and I followed suit. No one questioned what we were doing. We were just two whores with a schedule to keep.

"What—what are Death Eaters?" I asked after a few minutes.

"Horrible, horrible people who work for He Who Must Not Be Named," Gabrielle said, shaking her glorious head. "They are murderers, thieves, rapists...how is it that you do not know them? Are you foreign?"

"I'm American," I told her. "And formerly a—I don't know the French word, but the English call them Muggles. I didn't have any magic until a werewolf bit me and it sort of triggered it, I guess."

"A werewolf?" Gabrielle looked mildly appalled. "Oh, I am sorry..."

"For what?" I snorted. I looked around. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"We're heading for the dungeons," she said uncertainly.

"Dungeons? You're kidding, right?"

Gabrielle gave me a look. "Some of the customers have... exotic tastes."

I closed my eyes. "Ewww."

Sure enough, we soon descended into a dark, gloomy dungeon with a wide variety of manacles, whips, chains, and stuff I didn't want to know about. I felt sick. I had been living with a grade-A pervert for the past three months. Gabrielle saw my expression and grimaced in agreement.

"What does Henri want us to steal?" she whispered.

"I don't know," I muttered back. "He won't tell me. We're almost there, though. Wherever we're going."

Suddenly a face I knew appeared and I dove behind a rack of mock torture devices. Gabrielle had the presence of mind to act like she was here for a reason and didn't protest as Dolohov leered and grabbed her ass before departing. I cautiously emerged and glared at the doorway through which Dolohov had departed.

"That pig!" I cried in outrage. "He's married!"

"Most of our customers are," Gabrielle said dryly.

"But he's married to my friend," I snapped. "Bastard."

"How did you end up here, then, if you're one of _them_?" Gabrielle asked spat.

"It's a long story," I said wearily. "But I'm not one of _them_, whoever _they_ are."

Hermes directed me into a closet filled with leather undergarments and hopped off my shoulder to pull back a sliding panel.

"Enchantments again?" I asked, and he nodded his little monkey head.

I stepped through the door and froze, gaping. The room was occupied by a dozen naked women who bore a remarkable resemblance to Gabrielle, but they were even more perfect looking, if that was possible. I was beginning to get a little cheesed off. I wasn't used to feeling anything less than ravishing—or at least attractive, no matter what I told Draco. These—creatures—made me look like Homer Simpson.

Gabrielle poked me in the back and I moved to let her in. She looked around, unimpressed.

"Veela," she told me. "This must be for special customers or something."

"What's Veela?" I asked.

"They are. They're not women—human women, anyway. They're irresistible to men," Gabrielle explained. She added helpfully,"My grandmother was a veela."

"How exciting for you," I muttered. "D'you think they'll stop us?"

"No," one of the veela answered for herself. "Our orders are to seduce any man who enters."

"Oh," I said. "Okay. Sorry to bother you."

Hermes chattered at me to get a move on and led the way across the room. He scampered up to the wall and indicated a small mark. It was the same one I had seen in the sky when the Order of the Phoenix attacked London. The nasty skull. Was that their sign, maybe? I pressed my thumb against it as he directed me and gaped as the wall simply disappeared. Hermes chattered and hopped up and down in excitement.

"That was kind of easy," I remarked, blinking and looking around at what looked like a bedroom.

"Ah, thats where you're wrong, my little darling," Hermes said in my ear. "It only works for a virgin."

I laughed. "How ironic."

"What's funny?" Gabrielle asked, and followed me through the doorway. "And how did you do that?"

"Hermes showed me where the button was," I told her, grinning. "And it only works for virgins."

"You're a virgin?" she asked incredulously. "How long have you been here?"

"Um, two hours, maybe?"

"Oh."

"Hermes," I whispered, "I still think this is too easy. I mean, wouldn't it occur to someone that a female might try to steal whatever it is we're trying to steal?"

"Not this one," Hermes replied. "Trust me. He's the most narrow-minded bigot you'll ever hope to meet. Consequently, he's rather shortsighted. And, anyway, not many people would have a god around to let them through the spells he put on that door. Very nasty, I assure you. The thing we want is in that wardrobe over there. Wait here. I'd better get it for you."

"So what do we do now?" Gabrielle asked.

I shrugged. "Hermes is getting what we came for. It's in the wardrobe. Wizard enchantments don't affect gods, you know."

"Well, what did he need us for?" Gabrielle asked a little irritably.

"Maybe he's not a virgin?"

As we giggled nervously, Hermes tugged open the door and hopped up and down, chattering. I reached into the wardrobe and picked up a plain gold bracelet. Hermes' stern warning not to put it on was completely unnecessary—I wasn't an idiot. But I nodded and turned it over in my hands. It had the initials R.R. engraved on the inside.

"What is this?" I asked curiously, and wrinkled my nose. It reeked of magic. "I mean, it doesn't look all that valuable. Smells like it could be, though."

"It's plenty valuable," Hermes told me. "Keep it safe; you'll need it later."

"Why can't you just tell me what's going on?" I demanded. "I know you all have some plan. You, Eros, Artemis, who else? What's in it for all of you?"

"Sorry, sweet, can't tell you that," he replied. "This is where I leave you. But I will tell you that your friend's hubby is currently passed out in the hallway and he's got some money in his pockets. Your kind of money, even."

"Why?" I wondered.

"This isn't the only place he visits," Hermes said.

"Bastard," I muttered.

"Oh, and one other thing," Hermes said. "When you use that bracelet, it would behoove you to mention that this brothel was once an orphanage."

"'Behoove'?" I smirked. "Have you been reading the dictionary again? You nerd."

"You are insufferably cocky, do you know that?"

"Didn't you say you were going?"

"Brat," Hermes muttered, and disappeared.

The monkey was still there, though. He simply wasn't Hermes anymore. Henri looked around, scratching his head, and scampered away. I looked at Gabrielle and took a deep breath.

"Right. We're on our own, now. Do you have any suggestions?" I looked at her French maid outfit. "Like normal clothes, for starters."

She nodded. "I can find some relatively normal clothes, yes."

"We should hurry—Hermes told me that Dolohov's passed out in the hallway and he has some money," I said, leading the way out. "Where's the exit, anyway?"

"On the first floor," Gabrielle replied. "But there are guards—and they took our wands--"

"I've never had a wand," I shrugged. "But I can do some stuff without one. You know, move stuff and set things on fire."

"Really? I've never heard of people being able to do that."

"My unc—the man I was staying with said that it was 'accidental' magic—the kind that wizards do before they've been trained," I explained. "He said that when they get their wands, wizards forget how to do it because they don't use it anymore."

"I never thought of that," Gabrielle said, sounding surprised. "Before I went to school, I did all sorts of strange things."

"Yeah, I—well, hello, Mr. Dolohov." I bent over and took out his wallet. "Fifty pounds...how many dollars is that?"

Gabrielle gave me a Look. "I'm French."

"Oh...right..."

"Come on, Melanie probably has something we can wear," Gabrielle said, tugging my arm.

"Who's Melanie?"

"She's across the hall from me. She's been here for years and years so she has some privileges," Gabrielle told me, and scowled down at her skimpy getup. "Including some say in her wardrobe."

"Well, then," I declared. "It's off to Melanie's we go."

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but Melanie wasn't it. She was young—twenty five, tops. If she had been here for "years and years"...I didn't want to think about it. She was tall, blond, beautiful, and unmistakably a hooker—and proud of it. She ruffled Gabrielle's hair like an older sister and ushered us into her room with a curious glance for me.

"Who's your friend, Gabbi?" she asked, looking me over.

"Zis is Ari," Gabrielle said in English. "We are going to escape."

"Come again?"

"We are getting out of 'ere," Gabrielle said firmly. "And we need clothes."

"Now, hold on a minute," Melanie said. "Just how are you planning to accomplish this? Neither of you have wands and both of you together weigh about as much as one of the guards' toes."

"I don't need a wand to do some things," I said, looking Melanie in the eye. "We're going, so are you going to help us or not?"

"Don't say I didn't warn you," she said with a shrug, and opened her closet. "Then again, you probably won't be able to say anything at all once those trolls are finished with you."

"Trolls?" I asked uncertainly. "Is that a figure of speech or--"

"You must be new," Melanie said from the closet. "I wondered why I didn't recognize you. Yes, they're actually trolls. And as part of their payment, they're entitled to keep for the night whoever they catch trying to escape. Just so you know."

"Well, then they won't catch us," I said firmly.

"Yeah, okay," Melanie said, and tossed me some clothes. "Just don't expect to be able to walk for about a week, that's all I'm saying."

This only hardened my resolve. I wriggled into the skin tight jeans and pulled on a leather jacket over the corset top. I shot a look at myself in the mirror. I looked like a...well, like a hooker. Even with the belt, I was sure my ass crack was showing. Melanie's clothes were kinder to Gabrielle, who was smaller. In fact, they fit her perfectly. I scowled at this bit of unfairness, then noticed something.

"A hat," I said. "Gabrielle needs a hat."

"What do I need a 'at for?" Gabrielle complained. "It will muss my 'air."

"We need it to cover you hair once we get out," I said. "It's far too noticeable."

"What about you?" she asked plaintively. "'ow come you do not need a 'at?"

"I can change my hair color," I said smugly. "So there. Get a hat."

Grumbling, Gabrielle jammed a hat on her head and glared at me. The hat looked good. Resisting the urge to get mad about it, I motioned for her to take it off.

"Don't put it on till we get outside," I said. "You need to let them see your hair so that way they'll be looking for it."

Gabrielle looked confused, so I repeated it in French. She whipped the hat off in relief and fluffed out her hair. I rolled my eyes and turned to Melanie, who was holding out a pair of ridiculously high heels.

"Uh—no thanks," I said. "We're probably going to have to run. I think we're better off without shoes."

"Suit yourself," Melanie shrugged.

"Thank you for doing this," I said sincerely. "You won't get into trouble for helping us, will you?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Just worry about getting yourselves out in one piece."

"Will do," I said, and left the room. Within two steps I had a massive wedgie. Grimacing, I attempted to pick it, and failed miserably. "This is unbelievable," I muttered. "So where's the exit?"

"This way," Gabrielle said, and set off down the hallway.

I tried to close my ears to the sounds coming from some of the rooms, but it was hard. The sounds were extremely loud, extremely enthusiastic, and extremely fake. It was disgusting. Gabrielle appeared not to notice it, and that in itself made me sick.

We didn't meet anyone. If I didn't know any better, I would have questioned such luck. But I had a funny feeling we weren't quite alone. Gabrielle slowed as we neared the lobby. I poked my head around the corner and and saw a bored-looking woman behind the counter who appeared to be painting her nails. Two nasty, burly monsters stood by the door, grunting and comparing their clubs. Wooden clubs. There was also a chandelier hanging from the ceiling and nice, fluffy (flammable) curtains hanging from the windows. I grinned. Easy as pie.

"My wand," Gabrielle suddenly whispered. "We can't leave without my wand."

"You're telling me this now?" I hissed. "Do you know where it is?"

"It's behind the desk in a vault," she answered.

"Tough luck," I said. "We don't have time to figure out how to open it. We'll be lucky to get out, even."

"But how will I get home without my wand?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I said firmly. "When I say run, you run for the doors. Got it?"

She nodded, looking scared but resolute. I focused my mind on the bottle of nail polish remover and knocked it over with my magic. The woman let out a cry of of annoyance as it spilled all over the desk. Then I set fire to it and she screamed. The two guards looked up, startled, and stared dumbly.

"Don't just stand there, you idiots, get over here and put it out," the woman screeched.

The trolls lumbered over and started whacking at it with their clubs. I fought the urge to laugh as their clubs caught fire without my help.

"Run," I hissed, and sprinted for the door—which turned out to be locked. "Shit."

"You," said an icy voice behind me, "are beginning to irritate me, my dear niece."

"I'm not your niece," I said, turning around. "And I'm not your whore."

"Of course not," Evil Pedophile agreed amiably. "You are my good friend Ira's whore, as you so charmingly put it. And he's on his way to fetch you right now, in fact."

That scared me. I don't know what it was about this Bellum person, but the mere thought of him turned my intestines into jelly. I didn't reply because I was too busy dodging the magic he threw at me with his wand. I don't know what you'd call it—spell, curse, hex, whatever—but it was nasty enough to blow a good-sized hole in the door.

"You want to play?" I muttered. "Fine. I'll play."

I focused my mind on his wand as he raised it and moved my hands like I was breaking something over my knee. The wand snapped like the twig it was and the Pervert stared at it dumbly for a moment. Then he turned his attention to his robes, which I had thoughtfully set on fire for him. For good measure, I set the curtains ablaze as well—there was no such thing as too much confusion, at this point. I looked around frantically for Gabrielle and saw her crouched behind the desk with the woman, whispering furiously. I beckoned to her frantically and she darted over and slithered through the hole in the door. I looked at it dubiously. Would I make it? I'd have to.

I took off the leather jacket and stuffed it through the hole before wiggling and scraping and pushing myself through. I was just about through when something grabbed my ankle. I looked back to see a badly burned, extremely pissed off face glaring murderously back at me. Curling my lip, I jerked my ankle out of his grasp and kicked him full in the face as hard as I could, wishing I had taken Melanie's heels. His head snapped back and I scrambled to my feet, looking for Gabrielle. She handed me my jacket and we took off through the crowd, who didn't seem to notice us until right then.

Then _he _appeared. I glanced back and saw Ira Bellum following us at a brisk walk. Okay. Okay, think. Hair. I ducked and weaved through the crowd, changing my hair so that it was straight and blond. Not bright blond or pale blond, but a nice, nondescript, easily overlooked sort of blond. Gabrielle hurriedly stuffed her hair under her hat.

"Switch jackets with me," I panted, slowing to a walk. "We need to blend in."

It took all the willpower I possessed not to break into a run or look back. By now my feet were starting to hurt and the wedgie was becoming unbearable. I noticed Gabrielle wincing with each step and saw that her feet were bleeding. Shit. She was leaving footprints. I looked around frantically and saw a mother trying to muscle several children into a taxi cab. I half-carried Gabrielle to the cab and practically threw her in. I slid in after her and slammed the door shut in the angry mother's face.

"Go," I said frantically.

"Where to?" asked the driver.

"Anywhere!" I moaned. "Please, just go."

He went. I looked back and saw Bellum about half a block away from where we had left, staring around helplessly. I sighed and leaned my head against the seat, suddenly dizzy.

"We did it," Gabrielle whispered. "We did it!"

We caught each other's eyes and started giggling hysterically.

"We're not safe yet," I warned her when I calmed down.

"No," she agreed. "But we're _free_."

"Are you two goin' somewhere in particular?" the driver asked irritably. "And ye could speak English, if ye don' mind."

"Sorry. Where's a cheap thrift shop?" I asked.

"Dunno what ye want one for," he grumbled, looking appreciatively at my top in the rear view mirror. "But I know just the place."

He let us out in a kind of dingy looking neighborhood and pointed out the thrift shop. I thanked and payed him and tapped Gabrielle on the shoulder. But she was looking across the street at a pub sort of squished between two taller buildings. I had the feeling that only we could see it. I squinted at the sign. _The Leaky Cauldron_. Huh. Weird.

"Gabrielle?" I said, tugging her sleeve. "Come on. We need to get different clothes."

"That place," she breathed. "Oh, Ari, we must have a guardian angel with us."

"Something like that," I agreed. "Come on."

"No—we have to go into that pub," she said firmly. "We will be safe there. I can contact my sister's family and--"

"No," I said quickly. "Oh, no. I'm not going back into the wizarding world. I don't know who to trust or what's going on or anything. I'm staying in my own world, thank you."

"They are good people," she assured me. "I promise you."

"No," I said again. "I want nothing more to do with wizards and witches and magic. You go on—you belong there. I don't."

"What will you do?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"I—I'm not sure," I said, heart sinking. "Find a place to stay, a job—I'll figure something out. You should go—someone might have followed us somehow."

Gabrielle embraced me tightly. "How can I ever thank you, Ari? I'll never forget you. Never."

I hugged her back. "Maybe we'll see each other again someday. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Good-bye." She kissed me on both cheeks and darted across the road.

I watched as she disappeared into the pub and took a deep breath. I was alone. But I still had a good portion of my money—well, Dolohov's money. I walked into the thrift shop and nodded to the fat, middle-aged woman behind a desk. She stood up.

"Can I help you?" she asked, looking me over dubiously.

"Please," I replied, mimicking her accent. "Do you think I could trade these clothes for something here?"

"Why would you want to?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because they're about three sizes too small and I got them from a prostitute," I said bluntly. "Please. I need clothes."

"Alright, lass, alright," she said. She glanced at my feet. "Are you daft? Where're your shoes?"

"Er—I'll be needing some shoes, too," I admitted.

"Well, let's see what we can find for you."

Clucking like a mother hen, she led me to a rack of women's clothes. I found some jeans that fit me and a loose button down shirt. I picked out a long jacket with pockets on the inside and put it all on. I folded Melanie's clothes neatly and handed them to the saleslady.

"How about shoes?" I asked. "I've a little money--"

"No, no," she said. "These clothes are hardly a fair trade for what you've taken. Take a pair of shoes and another shirt and we'll have a bargain."

"Thank you," I said gratefully, and tried on sneakers until I found a pair that fit.

I also found a scarf that I could wrap around my head and would have taken that instead of an extra shirt, but the saleslady insisted that I take a shirt, too. I didn't have socks--or a bra--but I felt much better. I stood up and saw the saleslady looking at me curiously. I raised my eyebrows questioningly and waited.

"Are you in trouble?" she asked bluntly.

I hesitated, then answered, "A bit. I need a job and a place to stay. It would help me a great deal if you could point me in the right direction."

"Jimmy's place," she said promptly. "My youngest brother. He owns a pub not too far from here. He'd take you on. You tell him Martha sent you."

She gave me directions and I set off, feeling a bit more calm. I was reasonably confident that I wouldn't be found. To the Pervert, I was a spoiled rich girl. He'd never think to look in this sort of neighborhood. Well, normally, he'd be right. But desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.

Jimmy's place was just as run-down as everything else, but it at least looked clean. This was encouraging. I pushed open the door to find several men at the bar. They turned and looked at me curiously before turning back to their drinks. The bartender, a not-quite-old man with sandy hair and a big nose, acknowledged me and nodded to an empty seat. I took it cautiously, looking around.

"Is Jimmy around?" I asked uncertainly, fingering my head scarf nervously.

"You're talking to him, sweetheart," the bartender answered jovially. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a job," I said without preamble. "I can cook, clean, whatever you need me to do. Martha said you were hiring."

Well, that wasn't exactly what she said, but I didn't want to sound like a charity case—even if I was. Jimmy's eyebrows rose slightly, but he nodded.

"I could use some help," he said. "What's your name?"

"A—Alexandra," I said. "Alexandra Rodriguez."

"That Spanish?"

I smiled nervously. "_Si_, _señor_."

_"_You speak it, too, or is that all you know?" he asked me.

"I speak it well enough," I replied. "My grandmother was Colombian."

"Well, then, Alexandra Rodriguez," he said. "We pay four-fifty an hour. You'll be working as a cook and barmaid four to six days a week from eleven in the morning to eleven at night with plenty of downtime in between. When can you start?"

"Today?"

Jimmy blinked. "What, right now?"

"Well, no, I need to do a few things first," I said. "When should I come back?"

He considered. "Folks will start coming in for supper at around six-thirty. Be here at five so Callie can show you the ropes."

"That sounds great," I said gratefully. "Um...is there a clothes store around here? I need to buy some—some clothes."

Jimmy smiled sardonically. It looked kind of strange on a man of his age. "Really? Clothes?" He chuckled as I blushed and called out, "Oy, Callie!"

Callie appeared, and I couldn't quite keep myself from staring. Callie was fourteen or fifteen, with multicolored hair pulled into pigtails, a spiked choker necklace, tons of eyeliner, multiple tattoos, fingerless gloves, and about thirty piercings distributed between her eyebrows, ears and nose. My eyes drifted to her cutoff jeans and midriff-baring Sex Pistols teeshirt. I found myself wondering how she managed to blow her nose.

"Callie, this is Alex," Jimmy said. "Take her down to Martha's will you?"

"Sure, Dad."

I resisted the urge to smack Jimmy. What kind of father would let his kid run around looking like that? Once we were outside, I turned to Callie a little uncertainly.

"I've been to Martha's already," I said. "She pointed me to your dad's place. The thing is—I need to buy some underwear and bras."

Callie pointed to the shopping bag at my side. "Is that all you have?"

"Er—yeah. And what I'm wearing."

"Well, you need more clothes," Callie said decisively.

"I need underwear more," I said firmly. "And I need to save the money I've got until I find somewhere to stay."

"Oh, we've rooms above the pub," Callie told me. "Dad can just take the cost out of your paycheck. Come on, Auntie Martha probably has some cheap bras. Then we'll go find you some knickers."

"Okay," I said dubiously.

Martha greeted us warmly when we walked into her shop and asked me if Jimmy had helped at all. I told her that he had been very helpful, and thanked her for pointing me in the right direction. I then picked out some bras that fit me decently as well as more shirts and jeans. Then Callie took me to a little WalMart-esque sort of store and I bought enough underwear to last me a while. Then we returned to the pub and it was like someone had pushed a fast-forward button.

Callie showed me to my room and helped me put away my few belongings and led me down to the kitchen. Soon people started coming and Jimmy yelled orders to Callie, who barked out instructions for me like a general. A pierced, tattooed general. But she got me through the cooking of strange English foods. Well, it wasn't so much the dishes that were strange as the way they were prepared. I don't know, I guess I was just confused by the lack of olive oil and oregano. Anyway, it was a highly stressful experience and I almost forgot to talk with an accent a few times, but Callie was too distracted to notice.

When it was finally over, I collapsed in my new bed and all but passed out. I didn't sleep very well, though. I kept having nightmares in which Bellum had caught me or I'd lost the bracelet Gabrielle and I had stolen or Draco turned up and died or other strange events. I woke from these nightmares panicked and sweating and not knowing where I was. It was a relief when morning came.

I rose a little after dawn and took a quick shower before dressing and heading downstairs. Callie was already up in full punk-rocker regalia, eating cereal at one of the tables. She looked up as I entered and motioned for me to sit. When I did, she wordlessly shoved a piece of paper at me across the table.

I glanced at it and my mouth fell open. I must have looked truly alarming, because Callie jumped up, ordering me to put my head between my knees.

"I know what to do," I said irritably, but did it anyway.

When the faintness receded, I looked at the flier again. There was a large picture of me—my senior portrait. How had they gotten hold of that? _Katerina Ariadne Metaxas_, proclaimed the heading. Underneath, it continued, _wanted for murder and arson. Five feet, six inches, approximately nine stones. Brown hair, green-hazel eyes. American. Also speaks French, Italian, Spanish, Greek, and Russian. _It gave a contact number.

"Is it true?" Callie asked.

"I—I don't know." I was dizzy. Had people died in that fire? But they're wizards, for crying out loud. They couldn't put out a little fire? But Uncle Mac—I could have broken his neck. I didn't even think of it at the time. "It's not what it sounds like."

"Really? I don't know how many different ways you can take 'murder' and 'arson'," Callie said, and peered curiously at me. "You don't sound American."

I shrugged and gave a hollow laugh. When I answered, I dropped my fake accent. "I speak five languages with a perfect accent. English isn't all that hard."

"So you admit that this is you, then?" Callie said.

"Yes." I swallowed.

"Are you going to explain how 'murder' and 'arson' can mean something other than 'killing' and 'fire'?" she asked. "Cause I'm kind of curious, to tell you the truth."

"Does the term 'white slavery' mean anything to you?" I asked, looking her in the eye. She looked blank. "No? Do you know what prostitution is?" That got her attention. I laughed humorlessly. "Brings a whole new meaning to the term 'sex slave', doesn't it?"

"That's...that's sick." She _looked_ sick. "You were—I mean, did you--"

"No. I was only there for two or three hours," I told her. "I escaped with another girl. That's why I set the fire. As for murder...it was in self defense."

"These were all over the place," Callie told me. "You'll have to stay upstairs until we can get you out of here. We'll get you a plane ticket and--"

"A plane ticket is useless to me," I said grimly. "I don't have a passport, first of all. And second, I think someone might just recognize me at the airport."

Callie thought for a minute. "You'll stay here."

"And hide upstairs for the rest of my life?"

"People will start to forget after a few weeks," Callie said confidently. "And in the meantime, we'll disguise you."

"How?" I asked. "I don't think dark sunglasses and a trench coat are going to cut it."

I didn't like the look in Callie's eye. "Leave it to me," she said, getting up. "You eat your breakfast while I go explain to Dad. When I come back, we'll get to work on your disguise."

"You're sure this disguise will work?" I asked dubiously.

"Trust me, Alex--or Katerina or whatever your name is--you won't even recognize yourself."

I didn't like the sound of that. But I found some yogurt and fruit in the kitchen and munched in silence, staring at the flier. Had I really killed the Pervert? Who the hell was he, anyway? And who was looking for me if he was dead? I thought I knew the answer to that last one. Ira Bellum. I shivered. Would it be better to just go wolf and disappear into the countryside? No, he knew I was a werewolf. I was probably safer here in the city.

Callie found me sometime later and brought me up to her room. Jimmy assured me that he believed me and would do everything he could to help. He also assured me that Callie knew what she was doing. With this in mind, I sat in a chair as she directed me and took a deep breath. Suddenly I heard a snip and jumped up.

"Sit down," Callie ordered crossly. "Do you want a disguise or don't you?"

"What are you going to do to my hair?" I demanded.

"I'm going to cut it off," Callie said honestly. "Sit down."

I sat, trembling. My hair. Maybe I am vain, but come on! She was going to cut my hair. My beautiful, dark, curly hair. My crowning glory. Okay, so it wasn't dark or curly at the moment, but still. I felt queasy. I kept my eyes squeezed firmly shut throughout the ordeal and pressed my lips together to keep myself from screaming. When it was finally over, I turned to look at myself in the mirror and promptly passed out.

Callie must have taken advantage of it, because when I came to, my entire face was on fire. Filled with dread, I raised a hand to my nose. Oh, God. One, two...eyebrows? Three. Ears? Five in one, six in the other. I opened my eyes to see Callie's face floating above me. She looked pleased with herself at first, then alarmed as I lunged upward.

"You little rat!" I cried, sounding like a strangled goose. "I'm disgusting!"

"I think you look great, but that's beside the point," Callie grunted, trying to throw me off. "The whole _point_ is to make you look different. Which you do."

Well, that was true. With effort, I released her and turned to the mirror. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that bad. The earrings were actually kind of cool—if you ignored the rings in my nose and eyebrows. The haircut was undeniably atrocious, but with liberal amounts of hairspray, maybe...well, no. There was no getting around the haircut. I looked at my clothes. Callie saw me looking and nodded.

"You'll need some new clothes. You can borrow some of mine for now." She held out a black tank top and a pair of suspiciously familiar ripped jeans.

"Hey!" I cried. "You ripped my jeans!"

"It's a _disguise_, remember? Hurry up, people will start coming in for breakfast soon."

Feeling scandalized, I pulled on my jeans and the tank top, which left much of my midriff bare. I noticed Callie staring and crossed my arms over my belly self-consciously.

"What?" I snapped.

"Nothing," she said, jerking a little. "You have an amazing body. I'm jealous."

"Yeah, well, I'm an athlete," I said, somewhat mollified. I started for the door. "Are we going, or what?"

"Not quite yet," Callie said, advancing on me with a bottle of hairspray and a handful of jewelery.

Here we go again. I sighed and surrendered to the inevitable.

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tee-hee! prostitute to punk-rocker! oh, Ari, Ari, Ari--what will become of you?

Review, my ducks.

Shai


	8. What's a Girl to Do?

okay, so I just remembered that I'm going to be in Virginia for a week (as opposed to New Jersey) and so I won't be able to update every day. So I'm giving you three chapters at once. ENJOY!

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The next few weeks passed in a blur of punk rock and tea and crumpets. Callie outfitted me for my new life and introduced me to all her friends as Alex or, more commonly, Alex the Amazon Queen. At first I was wary of appearing in public, but Callie pointed out that it would be more suspicious if I hid in the kitchen all day. This way, people knew me and, to my relief, never associated me with the girl on the wanted posters.

Even so, I often awoke in the middle of the night bathed in a cold sweat and some nights I couldn't sleep at all. I hadn't changed since I left Greenwood and it was taking its toll on me. What would I do at the full moon? It was only a couple of weeks away. And where in God's name was Draco?

In an attempt to escape both the restlessness and the nasty voices telling me that Bellum was going to eat me in my sleep, I woke up early every morning to go running. At first Callie tried to accompany me, but she was as much an athlete as I was a punk rocker. So I drowned my apprehensions in sweat and hairspray and became Alex Rodriguez, Amazon Queen.

Then, one Friday night, Callie woke me up sometime around midnight and threw some clothes at me in the dark. I caught them easily and crawled out of bed.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Get dressed, I'll explain outside," she whispered back.

Muttering slurred curses, I hurriedly dressed and grabbed a couple of necklaces and bracelets. Callie was very strict about that. Holding a finger to her lips for silence, Callie led the way downstairs and out the back door. Two guys (one with a bright pink mohawk and the other with more hair than he could manage) were waiting, smoking cigarettes. They looked to be about Draco's age. Maybe a little younger.

"Jason's going to get us into a fight," Callie whispered excitedly, latching onto the one with the mohawk.

I squinted at him. Had Callie introduced me to him? Probably. All the freakish haircuts sort of ran together in my mind.

"What kind of fight?" I asked stupidly. "I want to go back to bed."

"A boxing match!" Callie told me. That grabbed my attention. "Honestly, Alex. You're so boring. This is a once in a lifetime experience we're talking about."

"Well, it'll be the second in my lifetime," I said peevishly. "Are we going, or what?"

"You've been to one?" Callie asked curiously. "How?"

I shrugged. "I knew one of the fighters."

"Which one?" Cousin It asked.

I hesitated. "Malcolm."

Jason gave a low whistle. "The Dragon? Wow. He was something, alright. Never lost a fight. How did you know him?"

"What do you mean, he was?" I asked. "Has something happened to him?"

"Oh, I don't know," Jason said with a shrug. "He sort of vanished. Used to fight all the time, then disappeared about three weeks ago."

"Really," I said, heart pounding. "Maybe he'll be there tonight."

"I doubt it," Cousin It muttered.

I let the others do the talking as we walked along the nearly deserted streets. Every now and again we would pass someone hurrying along in the opposite direction. They always kept their heads down and their collars up. Only the slim hope that Draco might be at the fight kept me from running back to my room. I felt vulnerable and restless. I wanted to change. Then I wouldn't have to be afraid. In an attempt to distract myself, I forced myself to concentrate on what Callie was saying.

"My dad will kill me if he finds out about this," she was saying. She didn't sound too upset about this. "He thinks the terrorists have nothing better to do than pick on a teenaged misfit."

"Don't worry, Cal," Jason said, flexing his muscles. "I'll protect you."

I rolled my eyes and snorted, drawing Jason's attention.

"You got something to say?" he demanded.

"Not to you, no," I said coldly.

"Your friend's a bitch. Why'd you have to bring her along, huh?" Jason whispered, loud enough for me to hear.

"I brought her along for protection," Callie whispered back. "She could kick the shite out of you any day of the week."

My lips twitched, but I didn't say anything. For the rest of the walk, I concentrated on exuding a 'touch me and I'll break your leg' aura to deter Cousin It's occasional attempts to chat me up. It was working quite well, I thought. It might have been the werewolf thing, of course, but I like to think it was my Aura of Doom that did it. After a few tries he subsided into half appreciative, half resentful glances. I smirked to myself. I was a pathetic punk-rocker wannabe, yes, but I was a hot punk-rocker wannabe.

When we got there, Jason spoke to the man at the door with more bravado than confidence. Unsurprisingly, the guard told him to fuck off. I frowned irritably. I got out of bed for this? I turned around to start the trek back but stopped in my tracks. Before me was a scantily clad supermodel with approximately five cubic feet of golden hair and a figure that made me look like a walrus. I scowled. I hate it when people are prettier than me.

"Don't worry, darling," Aphrodite laughed. "You are lovely. For a mortal, anyway."

"Thank you, _kyria_," I said cautiously. "Ah—what can I do for you?"

"No, no, no," she said, shaking back her waterfall of hair. "The question is, what can I do for you?"

"Um--"

"Turn around, there's a good girl," Aphrodite instructed. "And go into that building."

"There's a guard," I said respectfully. "I'm not allowed."

"Does the phrase 'seductive manipulation' mean anything to you?" she asked, pouting. "Honestly, what have you been doing all your life?"

"Not that," I muttered, but turned around anyway. "I take it Draco is in there?"

"Yes, he is," Aphrodite said with a catty smile. "That's a good incentive, now isn't it?"

I marched—no, no don't march—I sauntered up to the guard and unzipped my jacket. I almost stumbled as I went up the steps. What the hell was I doing?

"I'm with you," Aphrodite whispered. "Go on."

"Hey there," I said, stopping just inside his invisible ring of personal space. Aphrodite slipped by me and wound her arms around his waist from behind. "Taking a breather, are you? When's your fight?"

"My—oh—oh, I'm no' a fighter," he stammered, blushing. Aphrodite's hands slipped lower. Ugh. "Well—I mean, I am, jus'--jus' no' in the... in the ring..."

I laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry—you certainly look like one." I reached out and ran a finger across his heavily muscled chest, barely resisting the urge to puke. "So did they give you a name along with all those rippling pectorals?"

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Quoting from Disney movies? God, just shoot me. I motioned surreptitiously to Callie behind my back and she crept past the guard with Jason and Cousin It.

"W-Will," the guard muttered, staring at my chest. I gritted my teeth.

"I'd really like to see the fight," I told him, trying very hard not to look at what Aphrodite was doing.

"Oh, well, it ain't no place for ladies, miss," Will said, puffing up importantly.

"What if you showed me around?" I suggested innocently. "You'd protect me, wouldn't you?"

"I don' know..." he said dubiously. "It's against the rules, see."

"I'd really appreciate it," I said earnestly, taking a step closer to him. "I'd be really grateful."

"Well, I suppose it wouldn't do no harm," he said, eyes raking up and down my body.

He opened the door and walked in without holding it for me. I wrinkled my nose in irritation and followed. Aphrodite was on my heels, whispering furiously.

"That," she said flatly, "was pathetic."

"Beyond pathetic," I agreed.

"It was sickening."

"Nauseating."

"I should have started much earlier with you," Aphrodite muttered. "Look, you're on your own from here, sweetheart. Good luck."

"Thanks a lot," I huffed, and smiled at Will as he turned around, frowning dubiously at me.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? I spotted Callie and her buddies huddled in a corner, looking excited and supremely out of place. I followed Will as he did a circuit of the room, wondering how to make my escape. I glanced at the ring briefly and turned away, then looked back. I frowned.

There were two fighters in the ring (obviously). Both were big, husky, meaty powerhouses. The kind that are sort of slow, sort of bumbling, but insanely powerful. One of them fit that description perfectly. The other looked like he should, but he didn't. He moved with a sort of feral grace that I had seen before. I narrowed my eyes. There was only one man that I had ever seen who moved like that. It was Draco; I was sure of it even before he knocked his opponent out cold. But why did he look like...that?

"Who's that fighting?" I asked Will. "The one on the left?"

"Eh? Oh, 'e's new. Can't quite remember 'is name." Will squinted, trying to remember. "I know t'other one, though. That's Big D. Dursley."

Big D. Dursley looked like he could use a double-D, if you know what I mean.

"I think I'll go introduce myself," I said decisively, and slipped away.

Draco was wiping his face off with a towel as I approached him. I stood in front of him patiently while he finished and waited. He glanced up, frowning, and opened his mouth—probably to ask who I was and what he wanted. Then his mouth clicked shut and he stared.

"You seem to have gained weight since I saw you last," I remarked, looking him over. "And black hair and a beard."

Draco grasped my arm and drew me to an out of the way nook. Glancing around nervously, he grasped my shoulders.  
"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"Callie made me come," I said with a shrug. "I thought I might find you, so I didn't argue. And..._voila_. Speaking of which, weren't _you_ supposed to find _me_?"

"I knew where you were," he said absently, staring at my hair and face. "Not exactly, but more or less. I've been trying to throw Bellum off your trail while I set everything up. What in the world have you done to yourself?"

"I disguised myself," I snapped. "What do you mean, 'set everything up'? And why do you look like the Incredible Hulk?"

"I don't know who the Incredible Hulk is, but I've been taking Polyjuice Potion. It turns you into someone else for an hour at a time. Ari, is your hair _blue_?"

"You haven't answered my question yet," I said firmly. "Talk."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm a wanted man, Ari. I've been setting up a series of portkeys and planning out safe apparition points for us to get out of here, but it's been taking a while. It should be ready to go in a few days. Can you wait that long?"

"I can," I said, knees going weak. "But I don't think _he_ can."

Draco turned around and swore. Ira Bellum was standing in the doorway with several cronies spread out around him. Draco moved instinctively to block me from Bellum's view and pulled me closer. His mouth was tight and his face tense. Then he seemed to come to a decision. And not a second too soon, in my opinion. Bellum, somehow, had figured out where we were and had decided to shoot nasty-looking gobs of magic our way. The first barely missed Draco's head, which was a bit higher up than usual. All at once, it seemed, everyone was screaming.

"Think of someplace safe," Draco bellowed in my ear.

"What?"

"Someplace safe," he repeated urgently. "Picture it very clearly in your mind and let me in."

I didn't know quite what he meant, but I tried. It must have worked because a second later I felt that weird squeezing sensation. I waited for the release, but it didn't come. The imaginary hand squeezed tighter for several agonizing seconds, making it difficult to breathe. Just when I thought I might pass out from the pain in my chest, the hand opened and air rushed back into my lungs. I fell to my knees, gasping.

Panting, I struggled to my feet and and looked around in wonder. Was it possible? Moonlight streamed over the waterfall and into the pool, where the moon was reflected in the rippling water. I breathed in the cool night air and smelled the ocean. I spun around, nearly falling over, and laughed in joy and relief. I was home.

The first thing I did was rip out all of the wretched rings, studs, and other metal things stuck in my face. Then I shook out my restored curls and shed about ten pounds of jewelery. I heard a low grunt of pain and turned around swiftly. I had forgotten about Draco. I rushed to his side and tried to help him stand up. He couldn't, so I leaned him against a tree. He blinked at me a few times, as if to focus his eyes.

"Did it work?" he croaked.

"Yes," I said, grinning widely.

"Where are we?" he looked around cautiously.

"Mount Pelion," I replied, surprised. "You didn't know?"

"No," Draco said, shivering a little. "I never want to do that again." He took a deep breath. "Ari, I have to tell you something—well, several things—and I only have a few minutes to do it before the potion wears off and they can find me again. So just listen and please, don't interrupt. If you want to carve out my liver with a spoon afterward, just please wait until I make sure it's safe. Okay?"

"Draco, what are you talking about?" I asked. "Why would I want to—I mean, sure, I'm a little peeved that you didn't come sooner—and that Uncle Mac wasn't really my uncle and wanted to make me a sex slave—you could have mentioned that small detail—but--"

"Ari, please, I don't have much time," Draco said weakly, and closed his eyes. "'Uncle Mac' is—was—Sebastian Gray. He's a sort of honorary Death Eater who financed many of the Dark Lord's enterprises and provided his followers with certain...privileges. The Dark Lord's followers are called Death Eaters. Those are the 'Purists' Sebastian told you about. He gave you a tiny bit of the truth about the war, but not nearly enough.

"The Dark Lord hates Muggles. He doesn't just want to keep them out of the wizarding world, he wants to exterminate them. They are the terrorists, not the Order of the Phoenix. The Ministry of Magic has been working non-stop to cover up Muggle-killing and torturing. Sometimes there's a purpose, but a lot of the time, they do it for fun. My father was one. I am one. Once the potion wears off, the Dark Mark will reappear on my arm and they'll be able to find me.

"I know that nothing can excuse what I've done, but they had my mother. Severus has always been our friend, yes, but he is—was—also my mother's body guard. As long as they had her, I had to do what they said. I was an assassin. You...you were Sebastian's special project, yes, but you were also supposed to be a—a reward for good behavior. I had werewolf blood, you see, but so did plenty of others.

"You have to believe me, Ari—I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to protect you. I thought that if you and I were married I could keep you safe. I would have told you everything, I swear. And then my mother died and the only hostage they had was you—that's why they tried to keep me away. I'm so sorry, Ari. Just wait a few more minutes before you disembowel me—I need to do something first to make sure they can't trace me."

I sat there, dumbstruck. I didn't want to disembowel him—or maybe I did. I didn't know what I wanted to do. I didn't know what to think. An assassin? In league with a murdering child-molester? In league with the people who killed my father? Suddenly a terrible thought struck me.

"Draco. My father...they said a homeless man shot him for his watch—please, tell me you didn't--"

"No," Draco said tightly. "No, that wasn't me. I had another target—your real uncle. And his wife and children."

"Oh, Draco," I murmured. "And the boxing?"

"An escape, nothing more," he said tiredly. "It was nice being David Malcolm, not Draco Malfoy, once in a while."

Suddenly I looked closer. He was beginning to shrink and his hair was lightening. The beard disappeared and tattoos reappeared. Draco, looking sick and frightened, took out a long silver knife and watched his left forearm closely. As soon as the tattoo appeared, he dug the knife into his own flesh. I gasped and put out a hand to stop him, but I caught sight of what the tattoo was and stopped. It was a skull with a snake for a tongue. I looked away.

"Not fast enough, Draco." I felt my blood freeze in my veins. It was Bellum. He was across the pool, wearing a twisted, cruel smile. "Now that you've started, though, you might as well finish. It's too late to turn back."

"Go away," I said, more bravely than I felt. "Leave him alone."

"I didn't come for him, sweetling," he said calmly. "I came fore you."

"Go away," I repeated. "You don't belong here."

"Are you going to stop me, darling?" he laughed. "Little girl, you don't even have a wand."

Suddenly I realized something and smiled. "It doesn't matter. You don't belong here; I do. You're on my turf now."

I felt like there was magic all around me just waiting for something to do. I simply had to direct it. I focused on Bellum and forced him back to where he came from. With an anguished howl, he disappeared. I laughed. Ah, the glories of home field advantage. I turned to Draco and saw a bloody, gaping hole where his tattoo had been. It was bleeding profusely. I knelt by his side and cut a bandage out of my jacket with his knife.

"Don't bother," he muttered. "I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die," I said firmly. "I'll get you to a hospital and they'll fix you up. Volos isn't that far away."

"It doesn't matter," he panted. "The only way to get rid of the Dark Mark is to cut it out, but it's fatal. The curse—I thought...if I could save you...it would be worth it. But he came—it didn't work—I'm so sorry--"

"In case you haven't noticed," I said dryly. "I'm still here and he's not. And I'm telling you, you're not going to die."

"Ari, it's not just a scratch," he said weakly, managing somehow to sound annoyed. "There's a curse."

"I don't care," I snapped, but I was scared. I could practically see the life draining out of him. I closed my eyes and said clearly, "Apollo, hear me. Come to me." As an afterthought, I added. "Quickly, please. It's kind of urgent."

And he was there. I let out a breath of relief. He was just as glorious and commanding as I remembered.

"Please, _kyrie_—heal him. He'll die without your help," I begged.

"I will not," he said simply. I opened my mouth to protest—vehemently—and he held up a hand. "It is not my help he needs, but yours. You have the power to heal, my little one. This is for you to do."

"But—I've never—I don't know what to do," I said, feeling tears form behind my eyes. Draco's chest was hardly moving. And he was pale—so pale.

"I will guide you," Apollo said gently. "Take his hands and close your eyes. Gently—you mustn't rush. Now find the curse—feel for it with your mind."

I could feel Apollo's hands on my shoulders as I knelt at Draco's side. At first I couldn't seem to feel for it, as Apollo said. Then I tried sort of sniffing it out and that helped a little. Then it clicked all of a sudden. It was like a whole new sense. I could feel the magic all around me, inside me, in Apollo. And there was the curse—a dark, malevolent presence wrapped around Draco's heart.

"Good," Apollo said. "Now burn away the curse. Every trace of it."

I imagined white fire enveloping the darkness. As I watched (sort of) the fire seemed to eat away at the darkness until nothing was left but the flickering light that was Draco. Was I too late? No, I told myself. I won't let him die. I poured some of my own light into his until it stopped flickering.

"Come away now," Apollo urged me. "It is finished. Come back."

I retreated back into my own body and opened my eyes with great effort. I felt like I'd given about a quart of blood. Apollo rested a hand on my head and smiled, taking away the lightheaded feeling and nausea. I smiled back tentatively, suddenly shy.

"Well done," he said. "Very well done. But he is not well yet. The curse is gone, but his body is weakened and the curse has already done some damage. He may still die without care. So tend him well."

"Thank you," I murmured. "I'll never forget your kindness."

"You make it seem like you will never see me again," Apollo laughed. "You will, my young champion."

Apollo disappeared and I turned my attention to Draco. His breathing was stable and there was more color in his face. Actually, there seemed to be too much color in his face. Maybe it was just the moonlight playing tricks on me. He was awake and looking around as if dazed. His eyes settled on me and he smiled, reaching out slowly to touch my hair.

"Am I dead, then?" he asked softly.

"Sorry, but no," I said. "Can you walk?"

Draco frowned. "I'm not dead?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," I muttered. "Come on, my grandmother's house isn't too far."

"I should be dead," Draco said. "Why am I not dead?"

"Jesus, Draco," I cried. "Did you want to die?"

"No," he replied reasonably. "But there's no counter curse—and you don't even have a wand."

"Draco, just shut up and trust me when I say you are definitely not dead," I said irritably. "But you might be if I don't get you inside soon."

Draco's eyes began to drift shut. "Alright."

"Whoa—hey, hey, wake up." I pinched his arm sharply. "Come on, on your feet."

I tried to pull him into a standing position, but he slumped back to the ground, leaned over, and threw up.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," he groaned.

"Okay," I muttered, and felt his forehead. It was hot—not yet alarmingly so, but it looked like it was headed in that direction. "Okay. Draco, wait here. I'm going to get help. I'll be back soon, I promise."

Draco nodded mutely and leaned back against the tree. I spread the remains of my jacket on top of him and hauled off my boots so I could run. I squeezed Draco's hand briefly before going wolf and flying down the path. It was only a mile or so to my grandparents' house, so I should make it in...um, hold on. Wolves can move at 30 miles per hour, so I could make it in...wait, I know this. Okay, thirty miles in one hour, so one mile would be...one divided by thirty. Which is...um...like, point zero three or something like that. So three percent of sixty is...oh, fuck it, I'd be there in a couple of minutes. (It's actually one point eight minutes, if you're interested—I did the math later.)

I changed just inside the tree line and sprinted up the path to the house. I pounded on the door, calling frantically for my grandfather. I saw the lights go off and heard Papou running down the stairs. The door opened and I fell forward into my grandfather's arms. He held me up while I struggled to breathe and waited until I had caught my breath to ask me what was wrong. God bless him, he didn't bother asking me why I was even there.

"I need help," I panted. "My friend is very sick—he can't walk and I can't carry him. Is _theio _Parasko at home? Or Christo?"

"You're in luck, my girl," Papou told me as he pulled his shoes. "Christo came home yesterday from school to help his father." He glanced at my feet and my rather revealing top and raised his eyebrows. "Get cleaned up. I'll bring them back here."

I met my grandmother at the top of the stairs and she hustled me into the bathroom to wash my feet. As I rubbed them with soap and warm water, she brought me a clean shirt and a pair of shoes and socks from my room. I was all cleaned up and ready to go when my uncle Parasko and Christo showed up with Papou. My grandmother was busy making preparations (I'd told her that Draco was running a fever) as I ran out the door with the men.

I led them up the mountain as quickly as I could—I had to keep reminding myself that they couldn't see as well as I could. When we arrived at the waterfall, I ran to Draco's side and put a hand on his forehead. His fever had gone up. He opened his eyes and looked at me blearily.

"I have help," I told him. "They're going to carry you to my grandparents' house. You'll be safe with them—they're all family."

Draco moaned. "This isn't the way I wanted to meet your family."

"Don't worry about it," I said soothingly as Christo and Parasko lifted him up. "Don't worry about a thing. You'll be okay now."

Draco was really out of it as we struggled down the path, switching places every now and again. My grandmother was waiting for us when we arrived and directed us upstairs. We set Draco down carefully on my bed and made way for my grandmother, who was armed with a thermometer and a bowl (for Draco to puke in, no doubt). Papou drew me out into the hallway with Parasko and Christo.

"Now that your friend is taken care of," he said in a low voice. "Would you mind telling me why you are not in England and why you were breaking down my door and three o'clock in the morning?"

"It's a long story and you wouldn't believe half of it," I sighed. "But basically, Uncle Mac was a fake and a crook. Draco got me out of there at great risk to his life."

"What dragon?" Christo asked, confused.

"Is that his name?" Papou asked. "Dragon?"

I should probably note here that in Greek, 'draco' translates directly as 'dragon'. And not only that, but when you're referring to someone, you don't just say 'George' or 'John'. You say 'the George' or 'the John'. So what I had actually said was, 'the dragon got me out of there etc., etc.'

"Yes," I said. "His name is Dragon."

"Did someone poison him?" Parasko asked, glancing into the room.

"Kind of," I said uncomfortably. "Look, I can't tell you everything that's happened to us. It might put him in danger. It might even put you in danger."

"What have you gotten yourself into?" Papou said dangerously.

"Don't worry," I said with a tired smile. "I had Draco taking care of me. Now I have to take care of him."

"He has a fever of a hundred and five," my grandmother informed us, coming out of my room. "We have to get him to a hospital."

"No," I said instantly. They all looked at me, shocked. "Certain—certain people are looking for him and if we take him to the hospital, they could find him."

"He would be quite safe in the hospital," my grandmother said impatiently. "Kahtia, I don't think you realize how serious this is. If his temperature gets any higher, he could have a seizure."

"He would not be safe in a hospital," I snapped. "It would be the perfect place to kill him and make it look like an accident."

"Kill him?" Her mouth hung open.

"Yes," I said. "Yiayia, please. We have to take care of him ourselves. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Yiayia sighed. "Alright, _poulaki mou_. Run downstairs and fill up a bowl with lukewarm water. Get a lot of rags, a big cup of water, and the pills in the cabinet."

"You mean the Tylenol?" I asked, just to be sure.

"The little white ones," Yiayia said, flapping a hand at me. To the men, she said, "Go back to bed. You'll only be in the way."

"As if I could sleep now," my grandfather muttered, but he left.

I ran to do as she said and returned to find Draco under a sheet, presumably naked (his clothes were folded neatly on a chair). Yiayia told me to get the pills into him while she took the puke-bowl to be emptied. I sat next to Draco and supported his head while he drank. His skin was burning, but not damp. It felt like there was a fire under his skin. I tried to coax the pills into his mouth, but he kept shoving them away.

"Draco, you need to swallow these," I said, exasperated. "They'll bring down your fever."

"What are they?" he asked, his speech slurred and confused.

I groaned. I guess he'd never had to swallow pills before. Now, when he was nearly delirious with fever, probably wasn't a good time to start. What if he choked? I ran down to the kitchen and explained the problem to my grandmother. She frowned, but nodded and went to the cabinet where she kept her herbs.

"Go back upstairs and start bathing him with the rags. Make sure the water is warm enough so he doesn't start shivering. I'll be up in a little bit with a tea for him to drink. In the mean time, get as much water into him as you can."

Upstairs, I took one of the rags and dipped it in the water. I wrung it out and sat gingerly on the bed next to Draco. I gulped, very aware of the fact that he was naked under the sheets. I gently mopped his face with the rag and then hesitantly moved down to his chest and shoulders. After I had done his arms, I proceeded to his belly and couldn't bring myself to go farther than that.

"Ari?" Draco blinked and stared at me with glassy eyes. "Where am I?"

"You're in my room," I said, mopping his forehead again. "In my grandmother's house. Everything's going to be alright now."

"Bellum--"

"Is gone," I told him. "I made him leave."

Draco grunted, seeming to accept this.

"Here, you need to drink some water," I said, helping him sit up a little.

"Dark Mark," Draco muttered. "Fatal..."

"Not this time," I said firmly. "The curse is gone. You're just a little sick, that's all. Come on, drink this."

He drank, but threw it up after a few minutes. Yiayia came up some time later with a cup of tea and a bowl of the same stuff. I asked her what it was in a bowl for and she said we would bathe him with it as well as make him drink it.

"The problem is that these herbs will make his temperature go up briefly before breaking the fever," Yiayia told me. "We have to try to bring his fever down enough so that he doesn't go into convulsions once we get the herbs into him."

"You can have a seizure from fever?" I asked. "I never knew that."

"Yes, it's more common in children but it can happen to adults too," Yiayia said absently. "You never had them, but Christo and Anthoula did a few times."

"Huh. Weird."

We took his temperature again. It was just under 105. We worked constantly for several hours, bathing him and trying to get him to keep water down. Draco was extremely uncomfortable, tossing restlessly and making low noises of distress. He was also quite delirious and babbled a lot of nonsense at me. Most of it sounded like apologetic nonsense. Yiayia gave him something (ginger, I think) to settle his stomach and that helped. Finally, his temperature went down a couple of degrees and we used the tea. Thankfully, it stayed down and he soon began to sweat. Not long after that, his fever broke and he slept.

Yiayia made some mountain tea for the two of us and we sat in silence in the kitchen. The sun had been up for a while and we were both exhausted. When we were finished drinking, Yiayia washed the cups and put them away. Then she stood behind me and rubbed my shoulders gently.

"I'll make a bed for you on the couch," she said, tugging me to my feet. "You need to sleep."

I shook my head. "I couldn't possibly sleep."

"What's bothering you? It isn't just worry."

"It's too complicated," I sighed. "I wish I could tell you everything, but it might put you in danger. Please understand."

Yiayia regarded me with worried eyes. "I can't say I understand, but I trust you."

"Thank you," I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

I leaned into her embrace and closed my eyes, trying to pretend that I was a little girl again. Back then my grandmother was all knowing and all powerful and could make everything alright. But she couldn't make this all better with a hug and a kiss like she used to and that made me feel small and sad and alone.

I pulled away and wiped my eyes. "I think I'm going to go for a swim."

"What? The water will be freezing," Yiayia protested. "You'll catch your death out there and then I'll have two patients to take care of."

"I'll be fine," I said. "It'll keep me awake."

"You are such a strange child," Yiayia sighed. "You always were."

If you only knew, I thought darkly, and headed out the door. As soon as I was in the trees, I changed and loped up and over the mountain to my secret beach. I had been going there for years and, as far as I knew, I was the only person who knew about it. I hurried because, as much as I needed a swim, I needed someone to talk to more.

When I arrived at the cove, I shed my dirty, sweaty clothing and slipped naked into the water with a gasp. It _was_ freezing—but it felt good. I kept moving until I warmed up, diving and twirling and wriggling happily. I rolled over under water and looked up at the surface and at the sun sparkling in the water, suddenly at peace. Everything else was outside. I was in another world.

I'd always wondered why I was able to keep my eyes open underwater without the salt bothering them. I could also hold my breath for an unusually long period of time. Now I knew better. When I was with the nymphs, I could stay under for as long as I wanted as long as one of them was holding my hand. Speaking of the Nereids, where were they? I was hoping they—well, one in particular—would be there by now.

I came up for air and shook the water out of my eyes. When I could see clearly, I grinned. Sitting on a rock was a pale (relatively, anyway), dark-haired woman clad in seaweed. She didn't look old, but her eyes belied her age. Thetis was as old as the mountains. She patted the rock invitingly. I pulled myself up next to her and reveled in the warmth of the sun-baked rock.

"Welcome home," she said softly. "We've missed you."

"So have I," I sighed. "It feels so good to come home. Where are the others?"

"You need someone to talk to, not a mob," Thetis shrugged. "There will be time for them later. Now, tell me."

I told her. Everything, from the very beginning. It took a long time and, by the time I was done, the sun was high in the sky. I turned my face upward and stretched, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my bare skin. I lay back with my head pillowed on seaweed and on my own curls.

"So what will you do now?" Thetis asked.

"I don't know," I said, closing my eyes. "I suppose I'll have to take care of him until he's better. I owe him that, at least. And then I'll send him on his way."

"Why should you do that?" Thetis demanded. "He loves you. And, unless I am very much mistaken—which is highly unlikely—you are in love with him."

"I shouldn't love him," I sighed. "I can't."

"And why not?"

"He's done terrible things," I told her, feeling a stab of pain at the thought. "He worked for the people who killed my father. He himself killed my uncle and his family. Women and children. I never got a chance to meet them."

"Didn't you tell me they had his mother?" Thetis asked reasonably. "You might think of him not as a murderer but as a martyr. He was willing to kill—to lose his innocence—to save his mother."

"He killed my uncle," I reminded her.

"That is selfish," Thetis chided me. "You never met your uncle. Had he refused, he very likely would have lost his mother. How can you expect him to do otherwise? I know my son would have killed as many as necessary to keep me from harm."

"He lied to me," I said stubbornly, changing tactics. "He knew everything that was going on, and went along with it. He purposely kept me in the dark. He would have married me and our children would have grown up to be weapons for this Dark Lord, whoever he is."

Thetis was silent for a moment. Then she asked me, "Do you love your family?"

"Of course I do," I replied, startled.

"You would do everything you could to protect them, wouldn't you?" I nodded. "Now answer this: have you told them everything you told me? Have you told them any of it?"

"No," I replied. "It would only endanger them. I told them that."

"But are you not lying to them? Are you not purposely keeping them in the dark?" Now it was my turn to be silent. "How, then, are you any different from this man you believe you cannot love?"

I sighed. "I guess I'm not all that different, am I? But how can I trust him when he's been lying to me all along?"

"The same way your grandmother trusts you," Thetis told me, laying a hand on my cheek. "My child, trust isn't something that can be justified with reason. You must have faith." Thetis regarded me solemnly for a moment, then nodded. "If you wish, I will give you a glimpse of your future, as I did for my son. Do you wish it?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."

"Accept him and you set yourself on a path into terrible danger—but you will have him, and he will love you. Turn away and you will live a long, healthy life filled with loneliness and regret."

"Well, then," I murmured. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"

"There is always a choice."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

okay, so we all know that there is absolutely ZERO chance of her giving Draco the boot, but don't assume that it'll all be honky-dory.


	9. I'm Marrying a Jackass

In which Draco drives Ari up the wall...

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thetis left me to ponder her words, but I had made my decision. Once it was made, I realized that I had never seriously considered sending Draco away. He had been willing to give his life to save mine—he couldn't have known that I held favor with the gods. I owed him my life. I wouldn't give my life my life in return—I doubt he would appreciate that very much—but I would share it with him until I died. I was sure of that, at least.

As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, I slipped off the rock and into the water. I swam back to shore and, instead of putting my clothes back on, I headed for a nearby stream where I washed away the salt. The mountain water was even colder than the sea and left me shivering and gasping. I eyed my dirty clothes with some distaste, but it was getting cold and I couldn't go home naked.

When I got home, I smelled food cooking and suddenly realized that I was starving. I bolted upstairs and changed into pajamas, then flew into the kitchen. Papou was there with _theio _Parasko_, theia_ Voula (my dad's sister), and Christo. I hugged each of them and then fell on the bread and salad with gusto. When the meat was ready, I devoured that, too. My relatives looked in with mingled astonishment and amusement, but didn't interrupt. When I was finished, I leaned back with a contented sigh.

"Okay, you can talk to me now," I said.

"Uh...how was England?" Christo ventured.

"Aside from the fact that John MacTavish wasn't actually John MacTavish, it was great," I said. "And, before you ask, I can't tell you much else beside the fact that he's dead and won't bother us again. The fraud, I mean."

They weren't happy, but I was in no mood to negotiate. Instead, I told them about the fancy parties and nasty women and how Draco had only recently discovered coffee. They roared with laughter as I regaled them with tales of the Ketworth sisters and exclaimed over the education I had been receiving. When I asked how Draco was doing, Yiayia said he had woken up long enough to have some soup and then fallen asleep again.

When Christo and his parents went home, Yiayia asked if I wanted to go see Draco and I hesitated. I was still sort of coming to grips with my decision and with everything that had happened. I felt like seeing Draco would make it all true. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that yet. I ended up on the couch with a mug of tea and a blanket. I lay awake even after I finished my tea. As tired as I was, I couldn't sleep.

As the clock crawled toward midnight, I tossed and turned and finally had to admit to myself that moving around probably wasn't the best way to fall asleep. On the other hand...with a feeling of mixed anticipation and trepidation, I padded upstairs and down the hall. I gently pushed the door to my room open and saw that Draco was sitting up as if waiting for me. I noted with relief that he was still covered with the sheet.

I stopped, unsure of what to say. He didn't say anything either.

"How are you feeling?" I finally asked.

"Better," he said softly, and held a hand out to me. I moved forward without hesitation and took it. "Are you alright?"

"I couldn't sleep," I said lamely. He tugged my hand gently and I sat down next to him.

"I don't know how you saved me, Ari," he whispered, a little unsteadily. "And it's more than I deserve, but I'm grateful. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"You saved my life, I saved yours," I said. It came out more stiffly than I meant it to. "We're square."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, releasing my hand and looking down. "I'm so sorry, Ari. For everything."

"I know," I said, throat constricting. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't I just say it?

"You have to believe me—I never wanted to hurt you." His voice was ragged. "I wanted to marry you. I would have found a way to keep our children safe. I wouldn't have let them become slaves. I had all sorts of ideas for escaping and disappearing to someplace where they would never find us. I--"

"You wanted to marry me?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "You don't anymore?"

Draco looked up, startled, and I blushed and looked away. Had I come to the wrong conclusion? I knew he cared for me, but did he not care for me in that way? Maybe he had wanted to marry me simply to keep me safe. Maybe he felt like he had to atone for what he had done. Maybe--

"I do," he whispered, pulling me tightly against him. "Very much. And I'll ask you as soon as I feel like a man again—not a rag doll."

I sighed in relief and smiled against his chest. "I can wait. You're going to need your strength to handle my family."

Draco chuckled. "Should I be concerned?"

"Not yet," I replied. "But I would advise you to hurry up and get better because they'll all be here within a few weeks. Every last one of them."

"What for?" Draco asked curiously.

"Easter, of course."

"Oh, my. Will there be a lamb roasting in the front yard?"

"Yep. And a goat. And probably a few chickens." I yawned widely and said, "I love you, Draco," as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I love you, too," he murmured, stroking my hair.

Draco lay back, carrying me with him. He kissed me softly on the forehead and tucked my head under his chin before heaving a huge sigh and falling asleep. I took a moment to enjoy the feeling of his arms wrapped firmly around me, then followed his example and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The next morning, I found that Draco and I had something unexpected in common. Ever since I was little, I would shift and turn and roll over in my sleep. Sometimes I moved around so much that I'd wake up with my head at the foot of the bed or with my head and feet hanging off the sides. It drove my cousins up the wall when we were kids.

The same was apparently true of Draco. When I woke up, I was lying with my head wedged in the corner of the wall (my bed was settled snugly in the corner of the room) and one foot dangling off the bed. Draco was curled on his side with his arms draped loosely around my waist and his head resting on my stomach. And you know what? It wasn't all that uncomfortable.

"We're going to need a bigger bed," I murmured to myself, combing Draco's hair back with my fingers.

He stirred and peered blearily at me through slitted eyes. "Mmmph."

"Good morning to you, too," I said with a smile. "How do you feel?"

His only reply was to groan and close his eyes. Frowning, I put a hand on his forehead. His fever was back. It wasn't bad, though. And he was perfectly lucid, thank God, so I could explain about Tylenol. I moved to get up, but he tightened his arms around my waist.

"Draco, I have to get up," I told him.

"Stay here for a little bit," he insisted groggily. "Your stomach's nice and soft."

"It is not," I gasped indignantly. "I'll have you know that I have abs of steel, mister."

"Soft," he muttered rebelliously.

I flexed my abs to prove him wrong and slipped out from under him. Scowling at me, he grabbed a pillow and punched it a few times before shoving it under his head. I shook my head and went to get a glass of water from the bathroom. When I came back, I nearly dropped the glass. Draco had kicked off the sheets and was sprawled on his stomach, giving me a very clear view of—well, everything. With my face flaming, I marched over and jerked the sheets back up. Draco rolled over and glared at me.

"I was hot."

"You're also stark naked," I snapped. "Pig."

"Poxy cow."

"I think I liked you better when you were delirious," I told him, shaking out two pills. "Here, swallow these."

"What are they?" he asked suspiciously.

"They'll make your fever go down," I said. "Take them with water and swallow them whole. If you think you can handle it, that is. If not, I'm sure I can find some children's Tylenol somewhere."

Draco gave me a dark look but accepted the pills and the water and swallowed them without complaint. Then he lay back and closed his eyes. I shook my head and went downstairs. Yiayia was up and making breakfast. She smiled mischievously at me when I came in.

"Sleep well?" she asked.

"Very well," I replied, knowing it was no use pretending.

Yiayia hugged me, beaming. "He's the one, isn't he?"

"Yes," I said, laughing shyly. "Although sometimes I wonder why I even bother. He's worse than Christo in the morning."

"Oh, dear," Yiayia said, eyebrows raised. "That is impressive."

"That's one word for it," I agreed. "'Infuriating' works, too."

"Well, have some breakfast," Yiayia said. "I want to hear all about him. I don't suppose he speaks Greek?"

"No," I admitted. "But he does speak French and Russian. I'm sure he'll pick up Greek without too much trouble."

"Does he dance?"

"He dances very well—not our kind of dances, but he can learn. He sings, too. And he rides and fences—and he's a boxer."

"He certainly looks fit—or he looks like he's normally fit," Yiayia amended.

"He is," I said. "He's really an amazing man—at the moment, an amazingly cranky, rude, boorish man, but amazing nonetheless."

We chatted for a while about Draco and about various family members who would be arriving soon. I went back up to check on Draco periodically and give him either tea or soup. We tried giving him something a little more substantial, but he threw it up. This continued for a couple of days and it was wearing us both a little thin.

"I'm hungry," he said peevishly one morning.

"I'll make you some soup," I said automatically.

"I don't want soup."

"I don't care if you don't want soup," I informed him. "I'm not going to clean up a huge pile of vomit just because you don't want soup."

"I didn't throw up yesterday."

"You had soup yesterday," I pointed out.

"I am not eating any more soup." There was a steely edge to his voice that did not bode well.

"Well, then I guess you won't have any breakfast, will you?" I snapped, tying my running shoes, which I'd had to dig out from under the bed.

I ran out into the warm spring morning and grinned in spite of my irritation with Draco. It was such a beautiful day that nothing seemed to matter anymore. It didn't matter that Draco's morning crankiness lasted well into the day as a result of prolonged bed rest (he hated being cooped up as much as I did) or that the most physical contact I'd had with him after that first night was taking his temperature or that the most romantic—or even civil—thing he'd said to me since then was 'you look like you could use a shower'. None of that mattered. Really.

I came back after my run feeling refreshed and much calmer. Until I walked into the kitchen to find Draco, barefoot and bare-chested, raiding the refrigerator. He looked up at me with an expression of mixed guilt and defiance and clutched a loaf of bread protectively to his chest. I rolled my eyes and held out a hand. The loaf slid from his grasp and flew to my hand.

"If you want solid food that badly, I could put some meat and potatoes in your soup," I offered. "A little bit, anyway."

"Your grandmother said she would," Draco answered. "I want to come running with you tomorrow."

I blinked. "Excuse me? This is the first time I've seen you out of bed. Forget it."

"I'm coming with you," he growled. "Or I'll go by myself. I have to get out of this house."

"Is there something wrong with this house?" I asked, eyes narrowing.

Draco glared at me. "You know what I mean."

"Fine," I said after a moment. "But I'm not slowing down for you."

Draco nodded and smiled suddenly as if nothing was wrong. "I can transfigure your necklace back now, if you like."

"It's about time," I huffed. "I've been washing the same two outfits over and over for three days."

"How many times do you need to wash something?" Draco protested. "It couldn't have gotten that dirty."

"You puking five thousand times a day helped the process along considerably," I said pointedly. "Let's go upstairs, shall we? I don't feel like lugging my suitcase up the stairs."

We went upstairs and I took my necklace off as Draco reached under the pillow for his wand. He took the necklace from me and put on the floor before pointing his wand at it and muttering something under his breath. The cross turned into a tiny miniature suitcase. He waved his wand and muttered something again and the suitcase grew to its normal size. I pounced on it and ripped it open.

"Clean clothes," I said rapturously. Suddenly I noticed Draco setting something else on the floor. It looked like a key chain. "What are you doing?"

"Getting my clothes," he said, as if it were obvious. "I can't very well meet your family like this."

"What do you mean, meet my family?" I asked. "Easter's not for another two weeks."

"I'm having dinner with you and your grandparents and your cousin and his parents tonight," Draco said casually. "Your grandmother said so."

"She did?"

"Yes," Draco said, nodding and waving his wand. "And I told her I was going to marry you. She seemed pleased. I still need to ask your grandfather, though."

"Really."

"I thought I would do it tonight after dinner," he continued conversationally. "In private, of course."

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" I asked in a slightly strangled voice.

Draco looked up with a puzzled look on his face. "Am I?"

"Oh, I don't know... me, for instance?"

"Sorry, I should have clarified," Draco said. "I'm going to ask your grandfather for his permission to ask you to marry me."

"Aren't you taking it for granted that I'll marry you?" I asked a little huffily. "I mean, you seem to have this all planned out."

"I—what?" Draco stared at me incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"You're talking about this like it's all settled and you haven't even proposed," I said accusingly. "And you said I was smelly."

"I did not! And anyway, didn't I say that I'm asking your grandfather first? I can't very well propose and then ask his permission to propose, can I?"

"You did so say I was smelly. You said I could use a shower."

"I threw up on you!"

"And a proposal is supposed to be romantic and a surprise—this...it's like planning your own surprise party." I glared at him. "You've been a complete bastard for the past three days and now you're acting like asking me to marry you is no big deal."

Draco stared at me like I had grown an extra three heads. Then he scowled and kicked his trunk open.

"I'd like to see how well you handle being locked in one room with nothing to do but vomit and eat soup," he snapped, rummaging around in his trunk. "Forgive me for not having the roses and love sonnets ready."

"A civil conversation would have been enough," I shot back. "Every time you open your mouth lately, it's to whine or say something nasty."

"Excuse me, I do not _whine_," Draco growled.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot," I said sarcastically. "The English term is 'whinge'."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Draco groaned, sitting on the bed.

"Fine," I spat, and turned on my heel. I passed Yiayia on my way out and snarled, "I'm going running."

I ran out into the sunlight for the second time that day and had to run for a considerably longer period of time before I cooled off. By that time, I was hot and sweaty so I headed to my beach to greet my friends, the Nereids. I dove into the water and they cavorted around me as dolphins and seals or as beautiful young women or mermaids. I laughed right along and did my best to keep up with them. We were playing tag when a new nymph, Kanake, swam up in dolphin form. She looked distressed. "They're back," she said (to this day I have no idea how they could talk in animal form). "They're at the caverns again."

"Who?" I asked, confused. "What caverns?"

"Maybe Ariadne will know what they are," another nymph exclaimed. "Let's take her with us."

The others clamored in agreement and I took hold of Kanake's dorsal fin. The others all took dolphin form as well and we sped off into the ocean. I wasn't afraid; as long as I was touching one of them, I would be able to breathe—and I knew they wouldn't let me come to any harm. Thetis would have their heads.

When we finally stopped, we were much farther from shore than I'd ever been with them. Thankfully, we were near enough an island so that the rocky bottom wasn't dangerously deep. I peered around, looking for what they were talking about, and saw it. Or them, actually. There were three ... creatures ... poking around the rocks as if looking for something. I moved forward and Kanake moved with me. What were they?

I got close enough to see them clearly and almost lost my grip on Kanake. They were people—mutated people. They had webbed feet and hands and _gills_. There were two males and one female. I noted with some confusion that they were all wearing bathing suits. In fact, the girl's bikini was really cute. I found myself wondering where she got it.

Wait a minute. Two men and a woman. I thought back to that night in London and felt a small shiver of fear. Were they looking for me? Were they mad that I bit one of them? No, that didn't make sense. Even if they somehow made a connection between me and the wolf, how could they have traced me here? And why would they be looking for me underwater? No, I decided. They weren't looking for me. But what _were_ they looking for?

"Let's go back," I said to Kanake. "I have no idea what they're doing. They're human, though. I don't know why they have gills, but they're human."

"We should tell Father," someone said nervously. "They shouldn't be here."

"Take me home, first, please," I said firmly. "I should tell Draco. He might have some clue as to what they're doing."

"Oooh, tell us about your Dragon," another gushed. "Thetis says you're going to marry him. You're going to invite us, aren't you?"

The rest of the ride home was spent talking about Draco, which alternately amused and irritated me. I was still kind of mad at him. Guys can be such morons sometimes. The worst of it is that they're completely oblivious. I swear, some of them could sleep with their girlfriend's sister and honestly have no clue that they did anything wrong. It's like being mad at a four year old.

When I got back to the house, I took a shower and put on a light dress for dinner. I wiggled a little, enjoying the swishy feeling of the dress. I loved wearing dresses and skirts. Everything else was so... confining. You know, if it weren't illegal to walk around naked, I probably would. I hate how some clothes restrict your movement or are itchy and hot and uncomfortable—the world would definitely be a better place if it were one huge nudist colony. I mean, Hitler would have been a much happier person if he could just—mm—let it all hang out every once in a while.

Okay... that was probably too much information. We'll move on with the story. Draco joined us for dinner and smiled charmingly at my family and me. I smiled blandly back as I helped my grandmother serve the food. There was a sort of awkward silence as my relatives tried to curb their natural inclination to ask him—well, everything. Being nosy is what Greek people do best. They see no problems with asking you what you do for a living, how much you get paid, what your social security number is, whether you've had sex with your secretary, etc. My plea for privacy was more serious than you might realize.

"So how did you and Kahtia meet?" Voula finally asked.

"Kahtia?" Draco asked in confusion, then looked at me. "Oh, Ari. I was her uncle's intern."

"I thought Kahti said MacTavees was a crook," my grandfather said, scowling.

I was tempted to let Draco fry in the sizzling pan of Papou's wrath, but then I remembered that, despite his recent bout of Moronic Male Syndrome, he was the man of my dreams and my one true love and all that. I gave Papou his food and patted his shoulder.

"Draco got me away from him," I said reassuringly. Not strictly true, but close enough. To satisfy my family's need for drama and to help Draco out, I added in Greek (I didn't want Draco to think I had forgiven him so easily) "He almost died trying to save me."

My family nodded appreciatively and beamed at Draco, praising him loudly and enthusiastically. This, at least, they understood. The circumstances didn't matter when it came down to it. He had saved my life—that was enough. Papou clapped him on the back and Yiayia kissed him soundly on both cheeks, as did _theia_Voula. Christo and _theio_ Parasko shook his hand vigorously. Draco smiled and nodded, but I could tell he had very little idea of what was going on. I observed his discomfort and laughed inside. Hah. Squirm, you insensitive little cockroach.

On the upside, Papou would most definitely give his permission for us to get married. That was something. Meanwhile, Draco was winning over my family with every word he uttered—and I noted with amazement that a lot of them were Greek. He must have had an amazing ear for languages. I mean, it wasn't like he was talking in complete sentences, but he knew several phrases and picked up even more as the meal progressed—and his accent wasn't bad at all. As the night wore on, I found it harder and harder to stay mad at him. Eventually I gave it up. I'd never been able to stay mad at him for long; trying to start now would be a bust.

After dinner, I noticed that Draco was looking a little pale and sent him up to bed—in French, so his fragile male pride wouldn't get hurt. He went without argument and my other menfolk went to do whatever it is men do for fun. _Theia _Voula and I helped Yiayia clean up and we chatted.

"What a nice boy," _theia_ Voula said approvingly. "I thought you said he didn't speak Greek, mama."

"He doesn't," I answered for my grandmother. "He just has a really good ear."

"And a really good everything else," my aunt added with a mischievous grin.

"_Theia_!" I squealed.

"Kahti is going to marry him," Yiayia said proudly. "He's going to ask Christoforos's permission soon."

"He'd better ask soon," I muttered, and they laughed.

"You know who else is getting married?" _theia _asked. "Lazaros Dounas and Roula Chrysanthopoulou."

"It's about time," I said excitedly. "When's the wedding?"

"Mid-may," _theia _Voula told me with a sigh. "It will be beautiful."

I'd grown up with them and it had been obvious that they were going to get married and have lots of babies since they hit puberty. I was a few years younger, but it was still glaringly obvious. Of course, this meant that I couldn't have my wedding in May. That kind of sucked. On the other hand, if I waited till later in the year, there would be figs and peaches and plums and tomatoes and all sorts of yummy things for the party.

"Thinking about your wedding?" _theia_ Voula asked, chuckling, and dried her hands. "Well, I have to go—why don't you stop by tomorrow, Kahti? I have some sketches I want you to look at."

"I will," I promised. My aunt was a seamstress—and a damn good one, too. People came from all over the place to have her make wedding dresses, tapestries, traditional costumes for parades and dancing exhibitions—you name it. As she left, I noticed Yiayia looking at me with tears in her eyes.

"Ah, _kouklitsa_, I'm so happy for you. I wish your parents could see you now."

I smiled sadly. "Me too. Yiayia, why didn't my mother's family keep in touch after she died? I didn't even know I had an uncle until right before Baba died."

"You don't just have an uncle," Yiayia informed me. "His wife was one of your mother's three sisters."

"I have three aunts?" I exclaimed. "And none of them ever contacted me?"

"Well, John MacTavish's wife died years and years ago before you were born," Yiayia explained. "Poor Rothoula was crushed when she heard. As for the other two—one was a complete hag but the other was such a sweet girl. They were very close."

"So what happened to her?" I asked.

"Dead," Yiayia said sadly. "And they only saw each other once before she died."

"Why?"

"Your mother never really explained why," Yiayia said with a frown, "but her sister made her leave England—for her own safety, she said. Rothoula never said what was wrong. In any case, her sister came to her wedding and that was the last time they saw each other."

"Did you meet her?" I asked. "What was her name?"

"Krini," Yiayia said with a little smile. "Well, that's what we called her—it's so hard to say English names. She said she didn't mind. I remember I laughed because she had bright red hair and your mother's hair was so pale. They both had the same pretty eyes, though. You have your mother's eyes."

"But my eyes are hazel," I protested.

"It's close enough," Yiayia said dismissively. "And anyway, the shape is the same—and the expression. She always looked like she knew something no else knew and thought it was funny."

"You knew her well?" I asked, feeling a little jealous.

"Oh, yes," Yiayia said. "She and your father used to visit every summer, just like you do. I think she liked having our family since she couldn't see hers. And she was part of the family. We all miss her."

"Draco will be part of the family, won't he?" I asked. "He lost his family, too."

"Of course he will, _koukla_," Yiayia assured me. "Everyone will love him—if only because you love him."

"He's not Greek, though—do you think that'll be a problem?" My dad always said I could marry whoever I wanted, but I knew that everyone was hoping I would marry a nice Greek boy.

"It's okay, we'll make him Greek," Yiayia said dismissively. "Your mother turned out fine. If it weren't for her hair, no one would have guessed she wasn't Greek."

"Yiayia, do you have any pictures of her?" I asked. "We didn't have any—Baba said it hurt too much."

"I think I can find something," Yiayia said. "Why don't you go to bed? Your Dragon said you've had a bit of a rough day."

"What?"

"He told me about your fight," Yiayia explained. "Now, you need to remember that he's very sick and cranky and uncomfortable. I'm not excusing him—I straightened him out, don't worry about that. Just try to be patient. If he's still being a _vlakas_ when he's healthy, then we can think about more drastic measures."

I laughed and went upstairs to change. When I peeked into my room, however, Draco wasn't there. I pushed the door open and looked around. I shrugged. Maybe he was in the bathroom. I changed quickly into a pair of boxers and a tee shirt and took my hair out of its clip before going back downstairs to my bed (the couch). I wasn't really sleepy yet, so I found my stash of DVD's, popped in French Kiss, and curled up with a pillow and a blanket.

Charlie was just telling Kate that he was leaving her for some French ho-bag when Draco walked in the front door, grinning like a loon. As I sputtered incoherently, he swept me up in his arms, blanket and all, and swung me around.

"What are you doing out of bed?" I demanded indignantly. "And where were you?"

"I was asking your grandfather's permission to marry you," he replied. "And he said yes."

Even though I knew there was virtually no way that my grandfather would say no, this bit of news still made a little balloon of excitement pop inside my chest. I grinned and hugged Draco tightly, pressing my face against his chest. I was going to get married. It made me feel kind of dizzy.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked curiously.

"Um...giving you a hug?"

"No, I mean, the box with pictures," Draco said. "What is it?"

"Oh, it's a movie," I told him. "Like a play, only on screen."

"Oh," Draco said. He sounded intrigued. "How does it work?"

"You know, I learned about it in physics, but I don't remember a thing," I said. "It's powered by electricity, though."

"Electricity," Draco said with a nod. "That's the Muggle substitute for magic, right?"

"I guess you could look at it like that," I shrugged.

"Can I watch it with you?"

"Are you sure you want to? It's kind of a chick flick."

"What's a chick flick?"

If he didn't know what a chick flick was, I wasn't going to tell him. "Oh...mmm...nothing. Sure you can watch it with me. It's a great movie." We sat down on the couch. "It started already, but not too long ago."

"What's going on?"

"Okay, so that's Kate. She's an American citizen living in Canada with her fiancée and she's waiting to get her Canadian citizenship. He had to go to Paris for business and he wanted her to go with him but she's afraid of flying and can't leave the country until she has her citizenship. So right now she's flipping out because he just called her to tell her that he's staying in France with his new girlfriend. Who is a big fat whore, by the way."

"She's fat? How do you know that?"

"Well, she's not really fat—she's supposed to be a complete babe, but I don't think she's that pretty," I said. "I've seen this movie a million times."

"So why are you watching it again?"

"Because I like it. Now, shut up and watch the movie."

We watched the movie and Draco loved it. He agreed that Juliette wasn't that pretty, but I think that was because he didn't want to get in trouble. After French Kiss, we watched Star Wars, which he didn't really understand, but he liked the fight scenes. He appreciated Mr. and Mrs. Smith very much and assured me that I was much prettier than Angelina Jolie.

And then we watched The Notebook.

I had this theory that guys were just the product of their environment and that a completely objective viewer who had never been exposed to high school culture (like Draco) would be free to enjoy and appreciate the movie. Or that highschool guys were just too immature to grasp the concept of such a deep, undying passion and that a man of culture and refinement and maturity (like Draco) would see that it really is a beautiful, wonderful story. Or at least that said innocent man of culture and refinement wouldn't know any better and watch the freaking movie with me.

No.

It's true—The Notebook truly is reserved for those who lack testicles and those who like testicles too much. Five minutes into the movie Draco started moaning and groaning about how stupid it was. I made him sit through it and he completely ruined the ending by complaining that Noah didn't even get to shag his wife before she died.

After that, I was too tired to move so we just lay there and talked while Draco rubbed my feet. I, who had never had a foot massage before, was practically swooning with pleasure. It was _wonderful_. Especially since I'd run about ten miles that day.

"What's this from?" Draco asked, tracing the scars on the back of my leg.

"Oh, that?" I said dismissively. "A girl spiked me in a race last year."

"What do you mean, spiked you?"

"When we race, we wear shoes with metal spikes on the bottom," I explained. "It helps you go faster."

"That sounds kind of dangerous," Draco said, frowning.

"Nah," I yawned. "They're only really sharp when you first put them in. I have plenty of scars, though. There are some nifty-looking ones from when I tried pole-vaulting—I landed funny and spiked myself so that I have the pattern of my spikes on my thigh. I decided to stick to running after that."

"Were you good at it?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "I miss it. The competition, I mean. I hold the county records for the four hundred, the four hundred hurtles, and the high hurtles. I wasn't too shabby at the eight hundred and the sixteen hundred, either. Maybe someone's broken my records, though. The season must have started by now."

"I'd like to see you race some day," Draco mused sleepily.

"I don't know how that'll happen," I said sadly. "But hey, you can race me tomorrow."

"I don't think it'll be much of a race," Draco muttered, and yawned. "Good night, Ari."

"Just stay here," I said as he moved to get up. "You make a good foot rest."

"Alright." Draco settled back and I was just drifting off to sleep when I suddenly remembered something.

"Draco!"

Draco jerked awake. "What? What's wrong?"

"I forgot to tell you; I saw those people—the Golden Trio or whatever—they were poking around underwater trying to find something. And they all looked weird—they had gills and webbed feet. It was really gross, actually. The nereids took me to see them because they didn't know what they were doing. I couldn't figure it out, either."

"Nereids?"

"Sea nymphs."

"Oh. Are you sure it was them?"

"Not certain, no. But who else would it be?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. "I just can't think of what they might be doing. I mean, there's very little chance that they know we're here, so I doubt they're following us."

"When they broke into your room in London they were trying to find something but they didn't know exactly what it was," I said. "Maybe they're looking for a weapon or something."

"Maybe," Draco said doubtfully. "Do you think you could take me to the place where you saw them?"

"Um...possibly," I said cautiously.

I'd have to ask Thetis. And I would have to explain about being able to see the gods. But then, if I was marrying him, I'd have to tell him sometime, right? Shit. He'd think I was insane. Maybe I should tell him after the wedding? No, that would be cowardly. I may be a big wuss sometimes, but that just wasn't fair.

"Ari? What's wrong?"

"Draco...if I tell you something will you promise to believe me?" I bit my lip and looked at him anxiously.

"If you promise that it's true," he replied equably.

"Well—have you wondered at all why you survived the curse?" I asked.

"Only about three hundred times a day," Draco said, sounding a little exasperated. "Why? Do you know?"

"I healed you," I blurted and added, very quickly, "Apollo helped me."

"Who's Apollo?"

My mouth clicked shut on what I had been about to say and I glared at him. "Who is Apollo? Who is Apollo? What are you culturally inept or something? The god of reason, light, music, healing, athletics, the arts, prophecy, archery, law--"

"That's not what I meant," Draco said. "I know who he's named after. But who helped you?"

"I told you," I snapped, blushing beet red. "Apollo. The god, Apollo."

"You're saying that the Greek Sun God helped you heal me?" There was a ripple of disbelief in his voice—and amusement, perhaps?

"Actually, he's not the sun god; Helios is. And yes, he did."

He looked like he was trying to contain a smile. "Ari, I'm not belittling the power of prayer, but--"

"I'm not talking about faith healing," I said, fairly calmly (I thought). "I mean Apollo was there. I asked him to heal you, but he said I had to do it."

"You mean to tell me that he was actually, physically there," Draco said slowly. "Apollo. The god."

"Draco, you promised you'd believe me," I reminded him, struggling to hold on to my temper.

"You want me to believe that the gods actually exist," he cried. "That's kind of asking a lot, don't you think?"

"You said yourself that you should have died," I shot back. "You said there was no counter curse, no chance of survival. And yet you did survive and you don't know why. Well, I just told you."

Draco was silent for a moment. "If they're real, then why doesn't everyone know it?"

"I don't know," I said with a shrug. "I've always been able to see them. Maybe it's something about me or maybe it's because they want me to see them. But they do exist and they don't like it when mortals get uppity. So watch it."

"Then why hasn't one of them zapped the Dark Lord with a lightening bolt or something?" Draco argued.

"They're Greek gods, not British gods. Their power lies here," I explained. "There's magic in the land and the sea and the air; I can feel it. I don't think it's the same kind of magic that you use."

"And these nereids," Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I take it they're not just mermaids."

"No," I confirmed. "Minor deities, all of them. Tomorrow I'll take you to see Thetis and she'll decide whether you're allowed to swim with her nymphs."

"Is Thetis a goddess?" Draco asked wearily.

"No, she's a nereid," I said. "But she married a mortal thousands of years ago and had a son. Achilles. Whom she'll no doubt compare you to with great enthusiasm and little mercy."

Draco groaned. "This can't be happening."

"You know, for a wizard, you're very narrow minded," I commented scathingly.

"Alright, alright, I believe you," Draco muttered. "Let me go to sleep."

"No you don't," I grumbled mutinously. "But you will. The gods will see to that."

Draco snorted in reply and patted my foot. I shoved my toe in his nose and then curled up into a ball, thinking dark thoughts. Even though I was miffed at Draco for not completely believing me, I was kind of worried. No doubt Hermes would take this as an opportunity to wreak havoc. It would be just like him to dangle Draco over a pit of molten lava by his toes or something to make sure Draco acknowledged his divinity.

"Oh, come here," Draco cried exasperatedly, pulling me across the couch and settling me so that my head rested on his chest. "I can practically feel you sulking over there. Look, if you say it's true, I believe you. I can't really wrap my mind around it yet, but I trust you. Now go to sleep."

"You're just saying that because you want to go to sleep," I said accusingly, but it was half-hearted at best.

"No, _you're_ just saying _that_ because you're mad at me and you want to punish me through sleep deprivation."

"No, if I wanted to do that I wouldn't argue with you—I have other methods."

"Well, arguing with me is doing a pretty good job of it at the moment," Draco said grumpily. "Just go to sleep!"

"Fine," I mumbled, then grinned and waited a few minutes before saying, "Draco?"

"What?" Draco moaned.

"Do you think we're soul mates?"

There was a beat of silence. "You are an evil, soulless harpy. If you weren't my fiancée, I would despise you."

"I'm rather fond of you, too," I murmured, and cuddled closer. "Goodnight, Draco."

Draco sighed in defeat. "Goodnight, Ari."


	10. We Got Married! And Then He Proposed

savor it, duckies, I won't be back till friday

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

When I woke up in the morning, it took me a moment to notice that Draco's foot was pressing my head into the corner of the couch. I pushed the offending limb away and rose, cracking my back so loudly I was surprised it didn't wake Draco up. Then I wandered into the kitchen, made myself a cup of tea, and ate a few grapes before going upstairs to change into clothes suitable for running. Then came back to wake up Draco.

"Draco," I said, shaking his shoulder. "Are you going to get up or should I serenade you into wakefulness?"

Draco immediately rolled off the couch and hit the ground with a thump. "I'm up."

"Go get dressed. I'm leaving in five minutes," I said with a smirk.

When Draco came down, I was struck by how normal he seemed. I was used to him looking either dignified and imposing or disheveled and cranky. Dressed in Adidas and Nike, he looked like any college athlete. It was kind of strange. I shrugged it off and led the way out of the house. I broke into a gentle warm up jog and breathed in the fresh morning air.

We ran in silence for some time and I was glad to hear no unevenness in his breathing. When I stopped to stretch, he was breathing a little more heavily, but it wasn't bad at all. He must have been in good shape before he got sick. We set off again, and this time I pushed the pace a bit more. He fell behind, but he didn't give up—which is more than I could say for some of my other running partners.

At the end of the run, I waited for him to catch up. We were near the path that would lead to my secret beach. I could take him to meet Thetis now and make certain he believed me. But no one had ever been to my beach before. . . I wasn't sure if I wanted to share it with anyone.

"You do this every day?" Draco panted.

"Most days, yes," I replied. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone put a Jelly Legs Jinx on me," Draco replied, bending over.

"Stand up," I ordered. "You'll breathe better. Did you keep your food down last night? You weren't looking so good after dinner."

"I did," Draco said triumphantly, slapping his chest. "See? All better."

"We'll see about that," I said. "Your fever might still come back."

Draco shook his head. "Honestly, Ari, I think it's gone. I feel practically back to normal. Or I will after my legs stop shaking."

"This is the first time you've been out of bed," I retorted.

"Ah, that's where you're wrong, my little moppet," Draco said, shaking a finger at me. "I've been doing crunches and push-ups and squats all day for the past couple of days."

"And you were complaining about having nothing to do," I muttered. "Well, come on."

"Where are we going?"

"To see Thetis," I said with a sigh. "You said you wanted to see the place I saw those people, right?"

"Oh." Draco sounded somewhat apprehensive. Well, so was I. I didn't know quite how Thetis would react.

When we reached the beach, Thetis was waiting for us. She was reclining on her rock with seaweed draped modestly over her body. I took Draco's hand and approached her.

"Good-morning," I greeted her. "This is Draco."

Thetis looked him over and smiled at me. "Do you regret your decision?"

I smiled back. "Not a bit."

"And you, young man," she said, turning her attention to Draco. "Do you regret what you have done?"

"I regret that some things had to happen," he said carefully, and looked her in the eye. "But I would do it all again if necessary."

Thetis's eyes misted over and her smile faltered. "You remind me of my boy. My Achilles."

I resisted the urge to let my jaw drop. And here I had been looking forward to an entirely different sort of comparison.

"What can I do for you, my children?" Thetis asked, taking our hands.

"I told Draco about what Kanake and the others took me to see," I explained. "He wants to see the place—maybe he could tell what they were looking for."

Thetis shook her head. "Whatever it was they were looking for, they have either found it or given up. They are gone. And I cannot allow a mortal man to swim with my nymphs. Especially your mortal man, my dear—he is entirely too handsome for his own good."

I sighed. There would be no living with him after this.

"Well, we'll head home, then," I said. "He's still sick, whatever he might think."

"Goodbye," Thetis said to Draco. To me, she said, "You will come by tomorrow morning and swim with us, won't you?"

I assured her that I would and led Draco back up the mountain. We didn't speak much, but there was a ghost of a smirk lurking around Draco's mouth. I rolled my eyes. He was as vain as a cat. Draco had always reminded me of a cat—and I don't mean a house cat. He moved with an almost supernaturally fluid grace that left you with no doubt that he was a very dangerous man indeed. Not to mention the annoying tendency to carry himself like a prince. He also had the same contrary nature and the ability to produce an infuriatingly smug expression—like now.

I was so wrapped up in brooding on this that I didn't notice anything wrong until Draco stopped suddenly. I stopped too and looked up at him worriedly, thinking he was going to be sick. But he looked merely confused. I followed his gaze and froze. A great white bull stood about fifty yards down the path, watching us—or rather, me.

"Shit." This was not good. This was definitely, horribly, extremely not good.

"It doesn't look like it's going to charge," Draco said reassuringly. "Let's just go around it."

"No," I said decisively. "We're not going anywhere near him."

"Ari, I have my wand. If he attacks I can--"

"Draco," I said in a low voice. "That's not a real bull. That's Zeus."

Draco looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, why don't you go ask him what he wants?"

I swallowed. "Are you familiar with Greek mythology?"

"I've read parts of the Iliad and the Odyssey, why?"

"I don't suppose you know the myth of Europa? Or Io?" Draco shook his head. "He appeared to both of them in the form of a white bull—well, technically, he was a heifer for Io, but he was bovine in both cases."

"So?"

"Zeus is quite possibly the horniest deity in Greece," I said hollowly. I could feel the beginnings of real fear stirring in my chest. How do you say no to a god? "He didn't drop in on Io or Europa just to say hello."

Draco's face clouded with anger. "I see."

Zeus, apparently impatient, began lumbering up the path. I looked around desperately, wondering what to do. When I turned back to Draco, I found a sleek black panther—no, a leopard; I could see faint, shadowy spots on his head—crouching next to me, tail whipping back and forth. So that was his Animagus form. Go figure.

"Draco," I hissed, "don't. He's a god."

Draco gave me a disgusted look and turned his attention back to the bull. A low rumbling came from his throat. As the bull approached, he gradually began to change until he was fully human. I gulped. He looked older than Apollo and Hermes and the other gods, but not old. His body, though powerfully built, should have been no match for a leopard. No human body was. The only problem was that he wasn't human. And Draco obviously didn't grasp this concept, because he leaped at Zeus the moment he was in range.

"Draco, no!" I shouted, and shoved him sideways with my magic. He hit the ground on his feet and I pinned him there with a silent apology. Turning my attention to Zeus, I said, "Please forgive him, _kyrie_. My betrothed is very protective of me."

Zeus frowned and reached for me. "Your betrothed, eh? Well, that's as it should be. Nevertheless, I'm sure he won't mind his bride accommodating a god. He should be honored."

"_Kyrie_, I'm sure he would be honored, as would I," I began, stepping away. What reason could a god possibly find acceptable? "But I'm afraid it is impossible."

"Oh?" Zeus asked mildly. He had my arm in one hand now, and the other was stroking my shoulder, creeping ever so slowly toward my breast. "How so?"

"Because..." Aha! There we go...but—oh, fuck. This had better be worth it. "You see, _kyrie_, there can be no one else for me. I have sworn on the river Styx to have no other."

The Styx was a river that flowed through the underworld. An oath sworn on its name was unbreakable, even for the gods. Now that I said it, I had indeed sworn by the river Styx to have no man but Draco. So now he was going to marry me whether he liked it or not—and he _would_ like it, damn it.

"How unfortunate," Zeus said, looking crestfallen. "Ah, well. Invite me to the wedding."

"Of course," I said, smiling weakly. He disappeared and I collapsed against a tree.

Draco changed back as soon as I released him. He looked kind of miffed—and by miffed, I mean furious.

"Why," he began, exceedingly calmly, "didn't you let me tear his throat out?"

"He's a god," I snapped. "You would have been dead before you even touched him."

"And so you would have let me watch him rape you?" A muscle near his eye was beginning to twitch. Oh, dear.

"In case you haven't noticed," I said icily, "he hasn't raped me and you aren't dead."

"What did you do?" he demanded. "How did you—you don't even have a wand!"

"I'm getting really sick of hearing that," I muttered. "Look, I told you. It's not the same kind of magic. And, as I told dear Mr. Bellum, you're on my turf now. Deal with it."

"Why did he leave?" Draco asked, obviously not wanting to dwell on my troubling declaration and its implications. "He actually bought that line about an oath?"

I felt an irrational surge of rage wash over me. "You idiot," I snarled, stalking over to him. "I've just chained myself to you for all of eternity to save your sorry ass. If you hadn't tried to attack him I might have been able to talk him out of it."

"What are you raving about?" he demanded, but he seemed uncertain.

"I just swore on the river Styx to have no one but you," I spat. "An unbreakable oath. The gods themselves can't break it."

"And you see this as _chaining_ yourself to me?" Draco said angrily. "If you see it that way, why did you agree to marry me?"

"You haven't asked me to marry you," I exploded, all the fear and tension that had been building since I first caught sight of Zeus finally being released. "You just assumed that I would."

"Clearly it was an unreasonable assumption," Draco said sarcastically. "After all, you gave me no reason to believe that you _wanted_ to marry me."

"That's not the point," I sputtered indignantly.

"What _is_ the point?"

"The point is that you could call it all off and I would be royally screwed," I snapped.

"What in the world makes you think I'll call anything off?" Draco cried exasperatedly.

"You've been an asshole since you got here and then you act like nothing is wrong and then you start being an asshole again--"

"What time of the month is it?" Draco asked suspiciously. "Are you--"

"I resent that," I growled, and prepared to launch into another diatribe, but he interrupted me.

"Well, since you obviously don't believe me when I say I'm going to marry you, I think I'll make a vow of my own," Draco said firmly. "I swear on--"

"Draco, wait--"

"Shut up, Ari. I swear on the river Styx that I will have no one but you for the rest of my life and after. So there."

"Oh, wonderful," said an amused voice. Hermes appeared between us. "I do love weddings."

"Who are you?" Draco asked rudely.

"Oh, tut," Hermes said with a grin. "Is that any way to speak to a god? You do believe we exist now, I presume."

Draco glared at him.

"Hold on," I said suddenly. "Hermes, did you--"

"Point Zeus in your direction?" Hermes suggested. "Why, yes, I did."

"You—you--" I couldn't think of an epithet scathing enough and let out a strangled noise of rage. "I hate you."

"I assure you I would be horribly offended if I thought you meant that," Hermes told me. "You should be thanking me for making you a married woman."

"We're not married yet," I snarled.

"You are in every way that counts," Hermes shrugged. "Whether you want a celebration and formal ceremony or not is up to you. If you do have a celebration, mind you invite me."

With that, he disappeared. I grew claws on my fingers and slashed them across a tree to vent some anger.

"I will have a ceremony," I shouted to thin air. "And a celebration. And I'm _not_ inviting you, you sneaky, slimy, two-faced, scheming--"

"Ari," Draco interrupted tiredly. "Is it really that bad? Isn't this what you wanted?"

I deflated abruptly and sat down on a stump, resting my head in my hands. "I'm sorry. It's just that I always dreamed of what my husband would be like and how he would propose and what the wedding would be like. I wanted something simple, yes, but—hell, Draco, every girl wants some romance in her life. You've never even kissed me."

"Well, I can fix that, at least." Draco pulled me to my feet and into his arms. "I didn't feel right kissing you at Greenwood when you didn't know what was going on—it felt too much like taking advantage of you. And recently, well—quite frankly I was afraid of throwing up on you."

"You've already done that," I pointed out.

"Yes, and think of how upsetting it would have been if I'd been trying to kiss you when that happened." Draco's silver eyes sparkled down at me. I was astonished to see that he looked almost...nervous. "Now, however, I feel right as rain. In fact, I feel splendid. Bloody fantastic. Why, I--"

"Then shut up and kiss me, why don't you?" I said irritably, but it came out sounding more breathless than anything else.

"Fine."

Draco, for once, didn't argue. And—oh, my god—was it worth the wait.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A few days later, Draco came to find me in the kitchen.

"I have to go to London."

I dropped the rabbit I was preparing for dinner and stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Just for a few days," Draco assured me hastily. "I need to know what the situation is in England. I have a bad feeling about Bellum."

"We're safe here," I protested. "He can't touch us as long as we stay in Greece."

"I don't know," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "He won't give up that easily. I just have a really bad feeling about all this and I'll feel much better if I have an idea of what's going on."

I frowned and bit my lip. "You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Of course." He looked relieved. "I'll be back on Monday, at the latest."

"When are you leaving?"

"Now. I just thought I'd tell you."

"Well, that was very thoughtful of you," I said. "Unnecessary, but thoughtful."

"Why unnecessary?" he asked, more than a little suspiciously.

"Well, because you're not leaving until after dinner." I said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was.

"I'm not?"

"You're not. I haven't been wrestling with a rabbit carcass for the past half-hour so you could admire it."

"Well, it's certainly, er, admirable, but I do need to get back to England as soon as possible—"

"Oh, alright. I'll just let my grandfather know that you won't be joining us," I said. "I'm sure he'll understand."

I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. I bent my head demurely over said rabbit carcass to hide a satisfied smirk.

"I guess waiting another couple of hours won't hurt," Draco said resignedly.

And that was that. I could get used to being married (well, sort of married), I thought. Draco left after dinner and my grandparents didn't ask where he was going or how he was getting there, just when he was going to be back. It cost them dearly, and I loved them for it. On the other hand, they kept exchanging glances and smiling. It made me constantly want to check myself in the mirror (or any available reflective surface) to make sure I didn't have something on my face.

When Draco returned, it was in the middle of the night (or very early in the morning, depending on how you want to look at it). He, apparently, had forgotten that it was the full moon and Apparated into my room. Upon finding the room empty, he then changed into his black leopard form and spent the next hour tearing around the mountains trying to find me. He was unlucky enough to stumble upon a revel of nymphs and satyrs, who tried to include him in the fun, not realizing that he was human.

All of this was somehow my fault.

After I laughed in his face the next morning and he stalked off like the offended cat he was, we had a nice breakfast with my aunt and uncle and my grandparents. I noticed, however, that he was rather tense—and not just because his virtue had nearly been compromised by a bunch of goat men. After breakfast, we headed down to the beach to talk.

"So," I said, stripping down to my bathing suit and flopping down in the sand. "What's wrong?"

Draco didn't answer and I looked up to see him staring at me, wide-eyed.

"What?"

Draco blushed. And it wasn't just a faint coloring, either. It was a full fledged, honest to god _blush_. A nice, rosy one, too. I resisted the urge to giggle.

"You—I—I've never seen you in a bathing suit before," he stammered.

God, I wished I had a camera. Blushing _and_ stammering? I did absolutely nothing to conceal a smug grin and stretched luxuriously, showing off my flat stomach to the best possible advantage. Draco gulped and looked away. I smirked. There's nothing quite as empowering as being beautiful. My brief foray into the realm of seduction back in England may have been disastrous, but I was beginning to feel that I might get the hang of it eventually. But, alas, there was business to attend to.

"Draco, honestly," I said with a hint of impatience. "What did you find out in England?"

Draco finally snapped out of it. "Bellum has been assembling a task force to find us here. I tried to get names, but he's being careful. I don't know who he's got, but I don't think we want to risk being here if or when they arrive."

I felt my heart sink. "You're saying we should leave?"

"I'm sorry, Ari," he said softly, taking my hand. "Bellum isn't stupid; he won't make the same mistake twice. If he's trying again, he'll have found a way around your magic."

"But where will we go?" I asked. "Here, I have the gods' protection. Outside of Greece their power diminishes."

"I'm not entirely incapable, you know," Draco said with a slightly irritated frown. "And, anyway, I'm not concerned with our safety so much as your family's."

With a jolt, I realized that he was right and berated myself for not having thought of it. I'd been too busy enjoying the sense of normalcy to remember that there was a psycho out there who wanted to kill and/or rape me. Possibly even in that order. He wouldn't hesitate to hurt my family. I bit my lip. Thinking of Bellum made my stomach twist up and my legs turn to mush. I gripped Draco's hand a bit tighter.

"Ari," Draco said. "I was the Dark Lord's best assassin for almost five years. I realize that it's not exactly something to brag about, but I can honestly say that there's nothing those bastards can throw at me that I haven't thrown at someone else at some point. You'll be safe. I promise."

Why wasn't that as comforting as it should be? I narrowed my eyes at him. "What else is bothering you?"

"I can't just keep running," he said, running a hand through his hair. He showed me the scar where his mark used to be. "I'm not with them anymore. And if I'm not with them, I'm against them. There's no in between. I have to go help those who fight him."

"The Order of the Phoenix," I supplied, remembering the night he and Sebastian Grey (formerly known as the Pervert and before that, Uncle Mac) had told me they were wizards. Speaking of which... "Wait. Draco, won't these people be _looking_ for you? I mean, don't they want to kill you?"

"Er..." Draco scratched his head. "As a matter of fact, they did."

"Did? What, did you kiss and make up or something?"

"Well—they think I'm dead," Draco told me almost sheepishly.

My eyes narrowed. "And what makes them think you're dead?"

"I sort of. . . led them to believe--"

"You staged your own death," I finished for him. "How?"

"I, ah, jumped into the river."

"That's it?"

"Well, no—I jumped into the river with a dead body and transfigured it to look like me. They found the body and I ran away. Invisible, of course."

"That was clever. Gross, but clever." I shook my head. "So we're going to fight with these Phoenix people."

Draco started. "Don't be daft. _You_ will do no such thing. I intend to find a safe hiding place for you somewhere close enough that I can keep an eye on you while _I_ fight."

I would have been extremely offended if I had any interest in fighting. Happily enough, I didn't. My only problem with this plan was that I would be away from Draco since I really couldn't imagine anyone more capable of protecting me. Call me a chickenshit if you want, but I had no interest in the fate of the wizarding world beyond what it meant to Draco. I would have had nothing to do with it at all if it weren't for the fact that one of its members was intent on making me his sex toy.

"Do you have any idea of where this hiding place might be?" I asked tentatively.

Draco looked pained. "Yes."

I waited for him to tell me. When nothing was forthcoming, I prompted, "Well?"

"Hogwarts," he grumbled, as if he didn't like the idea at all.

"Gesundheit."

"Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry," he clarified, giving me a dirty look. "It's the safest place in Britain besides Gringotts. And I can't very well leave you in my bank vault, tempting though the prospect may be. The problem will be getting them to agree."

"I can't imagine they would welcome you with open arms," I agreed. Suddenly I had an idea. "Actually, I think we might have a bargaining chip."

I told him of the gold bracelet Hermes and I had stolen and how he had told me that I was to use it for something. This led to a discussion where I had found the bracelet and what I was doing there, which didn't please Draco any. He had known that Sebastian Grey had been keeping me, but he hadn't known where—or why. I steered the conversation back in the right direction before he could work himself into a real tiff.

What if the bracelet was what the Trio had been looking for? Draco looked dubious and wanted to see the bracelet, but he when he finished examining it, he agreed that it might indeed prove useful. When I asked him when we were to leave, he said it was my call but we shouldn't wait more than a few days. I thought we should have one last dinner with my family and leave that night. I didn't think I could stand waiting around when I knew I'd have to leave.

Draco and I swam for a while. For someone who presumably did not have a lot of time for recreation, he swam very well. When I asked him about it, he told me that Malfoy Manor was on the sea. In an unspoken agreement, we did not mention Bellum or England or leaving Greece. We just swam and had a good time and I admired Draco's tattoos. I didn't mention the numerous scars on his back and on his ribs and arms.

When the time came to return to my grandparents' house, I felt as if my feet were made of lead. Draco, too, seemed to be reluctant to go back. When we arrived, however, my grandmother was waiting for us at the door with tears running down her face. I ran up the path and into her arms. She knew. I didn't know how, but she knew.

"Oh, _kouklitsa mou_," she sighed. "I will miss you."

"How did you know?" I asked shakily.

Yiayia gave a watery chuckle. "I saw it in your coffee cup this morning."

"You mean that's real?" I asked incredulously.

"Kahtia, of course it's real," Yiayia chided me. "You have more magic than anyone I've ever met and you don't think coffee readings are real?"

I gaped at her, utterly dumbstruck.

"Come in," Yiayia said. "We have a lot to talk about."

I exchanged a startled look with Draco and we followed her into the kitchen. She motioned for us to sit down while she made us some lunch.

"I imagine you're wondering why we haven't talked about this before," Yiayia said. "As soon as I saw the scar the Dragon's arm, I knew what you were running from."

"But _how_ do you know, Yiayia?" I asked.

Yiayia hesitated. "I am—I was—a witch. Like your Dragon. I went to the Academy in Athens and learned all the useless, flashy magic they taught there. And then I met your grandfather and realized I didn't want to be part of that world anymore. I have my old magic and that is enough for me."

"Old magic?" I asked, confused. "Is that what I have?"

"That's what you have," Yiayia confirmed. "In abundance. I've never met anyone with so much power. The old magic is of the gods and is given to those who carry the old blood and follow the old ways. Normally it's limited to a certain gift or several small gifts—mine concern growing things and a little bit of healing and other homely skills like cooking."

I'd always wondered about Yiayia's cooking. "What do you mean, the old blood?"

"Kahti, do you know who it was who fought the Trojans? The people Homer wrote about, who lived in the age of the gods?"

"Of course," I said with a frown. "The _Achaeoi_.But what--"

"The_ Achaeoi_ still live," Yiayia said. "Hidden in the mountains and on the islands, away from the _Minmagikoi_, living as they have for thousands of years. Some also possess the kind of magic your Dragon uses—mostly they are descendants of the later invaders, like the _Minmagikoi_. I had the new magic. I thought it was glamorous and exciting...but what use is magic used to turn coffee cups into rabbits?"

"It has its uses," Draco said mildly. "I don't suppose it matters much, but I'm confused. Who are the _Achaeoi_ and the _Minmagikoi_?"

"The_ Achaeoi—_the Achaeans—were the people who lived in Greece around the time of the Trojan War," I explained. "Perseus, Jason, Theseus, Heracles—all Achaeans. The Dorians invaded later. After the Dark Ages came the Classical Period. You know, when Athens and Sparta came to power and Athenian democracy formed. Philosophers like Aristotle and Socrates and Plato were descended from the Dorians and Ionians who invaded and mixed with the Achaeans."

"And they were the ones who brought the new kind of magic," Yiayia added, setting the food down in front of us. "Now. I know you have to go back to England to fight, but first you need to go to the Oracle."

"The Oracle of _Delphi_?" I asked incredulously. "Don't tell me she's still around."

"No," Yiayia said, shaking her head. "Delphi is a tourist site now—there's no way it could be hidden from the _Minmagikoi_."

"Which are...?" Draco interjected.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "It means 'the unmagical'. Muggles."

"Ah. So...where is Delphi and why are we going there?" Draco asked, looking like he was in way over his head.

"We're not going to Delphi," I said. "We're going to..." I looked at Yiayia hopefully.

"Little Delos," Yiayia said decisively.

"Little Delos?" I asked with a frown. "Since when are there two?"

"Little Delos is the true birthplace of Apollo," Yiayia told me. "Kept hidden from the _Minmagikoi_. The Aegean is full of islands that the unblessed can't see."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to make sense of it all. "How are we going to get there?"

"By boat," Yiayia said briskly. "To be more specific, my cousin's grandson's boat. You _must_ obtain the Oracle's advice before leaving for England. It is imperative."

"That sounds comforting," I muttered. "How soon can he get here?"

"Tomorrow morning at the nymph's cove," Yiayia said. "He was in the area. I've already contacted him. Now, what exactly did MacTavees—or the imposter, I suppose—want with you?"

"I think Draco had better explain it," I said, rubbing my head. "I'm going to take a shower."

Once in the shower, I let my mind go blank. For the next fifteen—okay, it was probably closer to forty-five—minutes, my mind was blissfully empty of everything but the sensation of hot water cascading over my body. When I got out, I felt almost ready to think about everything my grandmother had just told me. What I wasn't ready to think about was what lay ahead.

I succeeded in not thinking about it—much—as Draco and I packed our things, including the stolen bracelet. Draco turned my suitcase into a necklace once more and I fastened it around my neck. I was worried about clothing for the journey—surely it would take several days, at least?--but Yiayia assured me that Kallias (her cousin's grandson and the captain of the ship) would have suitable clothes for us to wear. What she meant by 'suitable', I had no idea. I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

In the evening, Christo and his parents came over for dinner. We didn't mention that we were leaving, but _theia_ Voula exchanged a couple of sharp glances with Yiayia. I studied the face of each one of my family members, memorizing every detail. I had to actively repress the thought that I might never see them again. My gaze traveled to Draco, who was saying something in a low voice that had Christo crying with laughter. Draco would get us safely home. I was sure of it. Almost. What if something happened to him?

That night, I changed under the cover of the trees and ran to all my childhood haunts as if to say goodbye. I surprised and pleased when Draco joined me as a leopard, and spent the remainder of the night running and playing with him in the woods. When the moon set, we headed down to the cove to wait for dawn.

Even though the moon had set, the stars still shone brightly in the sky, reflecting off the calm water. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the waves gently rolling up the beach. I smelled the breeze and sighed as it ruffled through my hair. This was my home. I didn't want to leave. But for Draco—and for my family—I would.

"We'll come back," Draco said softly, coming up behind me and squeezing my shoulders. "Once everything is over and taken care of, we'll come back. You'll never have to leave again if you don't want to."

"You mean—to live?" I turned around and looked up at his face. "What about England?"

Draco shrugged. "The only thing that matters to me in England is the Dark Lord. Once he's dead, there's nothing." He smoothed my hair back gently. "Everything I need is right here."

My breath caught in my throat and for a moment time stopped as I looked into his eyes. It was all very romantic—at any moment I expected sappy music to start playing and fireworks to go off. To prevent an onslaught of gushing girliness, I launched myself at him, laughing, and knocked him over into the sand. He landed on his back with a small 'oof!' with me on top of him.

"What's so funny?" he demanded, but his arms came around me and held me tight. "I was trying to romance you."

"I know," I giggled, and kissed him. "It was working."

"Oh, well, that's alright, then," he said equably. He rolled over so that he was on top of me and raised an eyebrow. "Well, well. It seems I have you at my mercy."

"Should I be afraid for my virtue?" To be honest, I wouldn't mind that much...or at all, really...

"Your virtue?" Draco considered this. "You won't have to worry about that for at least another half-hour or so. For now--"

"Wait, what's happening in a half--"

My half-formed protest was interrupted by my shriek of laughter as he started tickling me unmercifully. What followed was a frenzied battle which proved fruitless on my part since he wasn't ticklish at all. Jerk. I nearly pissed myself, I was laughing so hard.

When it was over, I found myself in the same position that I had started in—lying on top of him with my head on his chest. He stroked my back and played absently with my hair while I contentedly listened to his heart beat. We didn't talk much—I, for one, was still trying to get my breath back.

I was drifting off to sleep when Draco's hand suddenly ceased its soothing journey up and down on my back.

"Ari?" I grunted and rubbed my nose against his chest. "Ari, wake up. I need to ask you something."

I raised my head and blinked sleepily at him. "Hmmm?"

"Get up," he told me, and I snorted derisively, laying my head down again. "Come on, Ari. You can't do this sort of thing lying down."

What sort of—oh. _Oh_. I rolled off him and stood up, making a vain attempt to brush the sand off my clothes. Draco, with his annoying and mysterious talent for repelling dirt, dust, and whatever else might cling to lesser mortals (like sand), was spotless. He knelt before me and reached into his pocket. I held my breath. Was this really happening? I guess so, I thought woozily as he took my hand.

"Ari," he said quietly. "I know haven't been together very long, but I knew I wanted you the first moment I saw you. I swear I'll take care of you—provide for you, protect you, fight for you—for as long as I live... as your husband, if you'll have me." He opened his hand to reveal a gold ring engraved with flowing runes and studded with tiny diamonds. "I should apologize; I had a sort of ulterior motive in going to London. This is a wizard's marriage ring—my mother's. It's not like a Muggle engagement ring. If you agree, it's binding. We'll be wed as soon as the ring is on your finger and the marriage consummated. So think carefully. But I do hope you say yes," he added, looking down.

I didn't need to think. I'd _been_ thinking about him for months. "Yes." He looked up, a smile blossoming on his face. "Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes."

Draco stood up and slipped the ring onto my finger. I stared at it for a moment, my fingers entwined with his. I could feel the magic taking root—it was old magic, not the smelly kind that Draco used. I beamed up my new husband, deliriously happy. Draco, too, was wearing the biggest smile I'd ever seen on him. It was kind of startling—it wasn't that he never smiled or laughed, but it was rare to see such an unguarded expression of joy on his face. That in itself made me even happier than did the ring on my finger. I leaned into him, breathing in the scent that was purely Draco.

"Draco," I said suddenly, peeking up at him a little shyly. "Didn't you say something about consummating the marriage?"

Draco blinked and stared at me for a moment, then smiled, looking uncannily cat-like. "Why, yes, I believe I did. . ."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

Gee, I WONDER what they're doing...


	11. Beatings and Boners

YAY! I'm BACK! Virginia was super-wonderful in case you were wondering--which you probably weren't, but anyway, it was. Here you are.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I traveled inside myself, looking for the source of life that I held within me. In theory. anyway. In reality, it was the source of nothing but mess, pain, bloating, cravings, and embarrassing accidents. I concentrated in that odd, detached sort of way that I had used when I was healing Draco and carefully examined my body. Where...ah, there it is.

Alright, troops, I thought. Listen up. There will be no babies. I repeat: _no babies_.

I could practically feel my ovaries grumbling mutinously. Now, now, I thought. Let's not forget who's in charge, here. I bore down on them and plugged them up with a bit of magic. Ha. Take that. I detected a hint of smug triumph and wondered what I was missing.

Ah.

I flushed the egg that was already there with vindictive pleasure and then slowly came back, feeling very pleased with myself indeed. The first thing I noticed as I woke up was that I was still wrapped in Draco's arms. I was vaguely surprised—with no bed to fall out of, I would have thought I'd roll halfway down the beach before waking up. The second thing I noticed was that we were both completely naked. This didn't bother me as much as it might have, since he was still fast asleep. Besides, it seemed silly to be embarrassed over something like that in light of what we had done last night.

I took the opportunity to observe my husband (what a wonderful word—husband-husband-husband—if I could, I would say that five times fast). He was tall—the top of my head fit comfortably under his chin—and strong and lean. He wasn't skinny—not by a long shot—but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, either. Anywhere. He was all muscle. I smirked. I was the luckiest girl in the world. Barring the odd homicidal maniac or two, of course.

Draco's eyes suddenly opened, as if he felt my gaze on him. His silver eyes glimmered sleepily at me in the pre-dawn light. I leaned forward and kissed him before moving to get up. He tightened his arms and growled something into my hair, but I wiggled free.

"I'm going swimming," I announced.

"It's not even light yet," he grumbled. "Freak."

"I'm completely covered in sand, sweat, and...other things," I finished lamely. "I'm going swimming. You might want to consider getting dressed soon," I added. "I don't know when my cousin is showing up. And while _I_ appreciate the view, I don't think he will."

Draco opened one eye. "Who says? He might. I'm too handsome for my own good, you know."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't appreciate his appreciation of you," I informed him, and headed down the beach.

I felt his eyes on me and shivered. Let him look. I dove into the water and twirled around, wiggling with pleasure. The water was cold and shocking and it felt good. After a few minutes, Draco decided to join me. I frowned as he sped toward me in a very deliberate manner and swam to the surface, wondering what was wrong. Draco's head popped up beside mine and he grasped my arms urgently.

"What's wrong?" I asked, confused.

"You're alright?" he asked, peering at me closely. "Merlin, woman, don't you breathe?"

"Occasionally," I said smugly. "Every ten minutes or so."

"That's not natural," he said, giving me the fish eye.

"No," I agreed. "I could probably stay under as long as I want now that I'm Superwoman or whatever."

"So you weren't drowning."

"I wasn't drowning."

"Well, that was a complete waste," Draco said grumpily. "It's cold."

"I wouldn't say a complete waste," I murmured, floating closer and wrapping my arms around his neck.

After a good amount of time (during which Draco warmed up considerably), we got out of the water and washed off the salt in the stream. As we dressed I noticed Draco smiling to himself. I looked at him questioningly and he shrugged.

"It's nothing," he said.

"Come on, tell me," I urged.

"Did you know your eyes change color?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, slightly confused. "I've been able to do that for ages. You know that."

"No, I mean they change color according to your mood," he said. "Well, different shades of green. The brown disappears completely sometimes."

"Really?" I said, surprised. "I didn't know that."

Draco nodded. "When you're angry they look like emeralds. It's very pretty."

"Is that why you love annoying me?"

"Partly," he said with a grin. "But I like your eyes when you're happy better—like pine trees with the sun shining through them."

"Oh," I muttered, blushing a little. "Mmm. I think your eyes are very pretty, too."

Draco laughed and pulled on his shirt. "When did your grandmother say they'd be here again?"

"She didn't," I replied, sitting down on a log. "She just said they'd pick us up in the morning."

We sat in companionable silence for some time until a bird flew overhead, squawking an alarm. A few minutes later, Yiayia ambled out of the trees and looked around. When she spotted us, she headed across the beach and we got up to meet her.

"I thought I would come see you off," she explained a little tearfully. She spotted the ring on my finger and cried out, "Oh, how wonderful! A wizard's marriage ring, too. But you are going to get married in the church as well, aren't you?"

"Of course," I said, shuddering. "_Theia _would kill me."

"I brought you this," Yiayia said, reaching into her pocket. "It took me a while, but I found a picture of your mother and her sister."

I practically snatched the photograph from her hand and inspected it. Yiayia was right—I did have my mother's eyes. And her nose. And her smile. I also seemed to have my mother's build, even if my body was more athletic. My mother was slender and delicate, with long, pale blond hair and bright green eyes—like emeralds.

So. Eyes, nose, smile, and body. That was all from my mother. It made me feel better to know that she hadn't disappeared completely. Everyone always said how much I resembled my father and my aunt and I had sometimes worried that my mother would be lost forever since I apparently had nothing from her. It was stupid, I know, but I had read something when I was little about parents living on in their children after they died and the notion stuck.

"Your eyes look like that when you're angry," Draco said, looking over my shoulder. Then he frowned.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said uneasily. "There's just something—I don't know. Nevermind."

"I have a present for you too, young man," Yiayia said.

"You do?"

Yiayia nodded, and produced a small, leather bound book that looked suspiciously like a photo album. "I thought you should have this—so you know who Kahti was growing up."

"Yiayia!" I gasped. "But that—that has--"

"What in the world were you _doing?_" Draco asked, looking at a picture in the beginning. "Why are you dressed as a—what is that, anyway?"

I sighed. "We were doing a play about Noah's Ark in first grade. I was an aardvark. Yiayia, do you realize that there are pictures of me _naked_ in there?"

"If you're married, it's nothing he hasn't seen already," Yiayia said practically. "And, anyway, you're just a baby in those pictures."

"Argh." I put a hand over my face. It was just too painful. "Draco, if you show that book to anyone, I _will_ kill you."

"Of course, darling," he said absently, still flipping through the book. Suddenly he grinned. "You know, I could be wrong, but pants generally go on your legs, not your head. It's a charming look for you, though. You should try it again sometime."

"I mean it, Draco. I'll chop you up into teeny, tiny bits and flush you down the toilet." I narrowed my eyes at him. "A really smelly one."

"Best put that away," Yiayia said briskly. "Kallias is here."

"Who?" I turned around to find a ship in the cove. "Where'd that come from?"

"From Vouna," Yiayia said. "That's your cousin's ship."

"I figured," I muttered. "Kallias, you said?"

"Kallias," Yiayia confirmed, and smiled mischievously. "Prince of Vouna."

"_What_?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you? The _Achaeoi_ rule their own islands. You're related to the royal family of Vouna—distantly, of course, but enough to warrant some respect."

"No, you didn't tell me," I hissed. "Is there anything else?"

Yiayia considered. "Nothing that you won't find out for yourself soon enough."

What the hell did _that_ mean? "Yiayia--"

"Sshh," she said, flapping a hand at me.

The Prince of Vouna was now on dry land and marching up he beach flanked by a few spindly youths. He was—enormous. A towering pillar of muscle and hair. Kallias wore a long wraparound garment that bore a remarkable resemblance to one of my favorite skirts and a patterned vest. The vest hung open, revealing a thicket of dark curls. The hair on his head was just as dark and curly and came down to his shoulders. He looked like a bear, right down to the beady little black eyes and bushy beard.

"Ah, you must be Katina's granddaughter," he boomed in Greek, almost knocking me over as he kissed my cheeks.

"Call me Ariadne," I replied while thinking, 'Katina'? "It'll make things less confusing."

"And who is this strapping young lad?" Kallias inquired, seizing Draco's hand in a manly handshake. Draco, to his credit, didn't even wince as Kallias gave him a friendly buffet on the arm.

"This is my husband, Draco," I said, laying a hand on his arm.

"Has his tongue been cut out or does he let his woman speak for him?" Kallias said, and laughed heartily.

"He speaks only a little Greek," I explained. "He's only been here about a week."

"Not Greek!" Kallias cried. "Your father allowed this?"

"My father is dead," I said shortly.

"Forgive me," Kallias gasped, dropping to one knee. "A thousand apologies, cousin."

"Draco is a good man," Yiayia interrupted. "You will treat him with respect, Kallias, or your grandfather will hear of it."

"Of course, _theia_," Kallias replied jovially, springing up. "Allow me to introduce my brothers—Patroklos, Ikaro, and Iason."

"_Yeiasas_," Draco greeted them, holding a hand out.

"No Greek, you said?" Kallias asked, raising caterpillar eyebrows.

"Little Greek," I corrected him. "He learns fast."

"Good," Kallias said, and turned to my grandmother. "Shall I carry a message to my grandmother for you, _theia_?"

"Tell her that I will visit in a month's time," Yiayia said. "It's been too long."

"Well, then, let's be off," Kallias said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "This way, cousin."

I hugged my grandmother good bye and turned away with tears in my eyes, leaning gratefully into Draco as he put a comforting arm around my shoulders. Kallias' younger brothers ended up leading us onto the ship, because Yiayia held Kallias back and seemed to be explaining something to him. Probably my lycanthropy, I thought. I noticed Patroklos gaping at me and resisted the urge to glare at him, instead slipping an arm around Draco's waist.

Patroklos looked to be about sixteen and was tall and gangly. His brothers—twins, I noted with some apprehension—were probably fourteen or fifteen. All three were clad in much the same fashion as Kallias, though their kilts were a little less grand. The sailors on the ship, I saw, wore only loincloths that fell about halfway down the thigh.

"You and your husband will use my quarters," Kallias said, joining us on the ship. Lowering his voice, he added, "Your grandmother explained about your...illness. Please, do not let the crew realize. They're very superstitious."

"Alright," I agreed, and we followed him below decks to the only compartment separate from the cargo hold. It contained a bed that didn't look like it would fit both of us and a trunk and that was it. Kallias informed me that he had provided clothing for both of us in the trunk.

"Not very princely," Draco observed once Kallias had left us.

"I guess it is compared to what every one else gets," I said with a shrug, and opened the trunk.

I let out a cry of delight at the beautiful dress I found inside. It was little more than a swath of fabric, if truth be told, but it was light as a butterfly's wing and just as colorful. I had been concerned about being comfortable in the dress I was wearing. For all it was only April, it would no doubt be hot out on the sea with no shade to be found. I ruffled through the trunk and found not only more dresses, but veils to keep the sun off my head.

"What in the world..." Draco held up a garment that seemed to be something between the sailors' and Kallias' outfits. "I am not wearing that."

"Give it a couple of days out in the sun and I think you'll change your mind," I said, changing into the dress and clasping it at the shoulder with a brooch. "Let's go up and make ourselves useful."

We did, and Kallias put Draco right to work with the sailors. I, apparently, was not allowed to lift a finger. At a loss for what to do, I watched the mainland grow smaller and smaller until I couldn't see it at all anymore. I felt scared and sad and not a little lonely at leaving my family behind. Then I smiled. I had Draco—who, at the moment, was struggling with the sailors, who barked at him left and right in Greek. I could tell he was angry and frustrated, but knew better than to intercede. He needed to make a place for himself among the men. Besides, he would learn Greek faster this way.

Draco's shirt came off after a few hours, as did his shoes. He was covered in sweat and his skin looked like uncooked hamburger. The men poked fun at him, calling him baby-skinned and land-lubber. Draco stubbornly kept his mouth shut and kept working despite the taunts. I was very impressed. I was so impressed that I kept watching throughout the day. I don't know if it was really that interesting or I was more bored than I thought, but it was quite entertaining. Like my own personal soap opera.

That evening, Draco flopped face down on the bed, utterly exhausted. I hissed through my teeth in sympathy when I saw his back and laid my hand gently on the raw skin. I closed my eyes and drifted down my fingertips, letting cool healing magic flow into his skin. He sighed in relief and let his muscles relax. When I opened my eyes, his skin was still slightly pink, but it lacked the raw, boiled appearance of a cooked lobster. I rubbed Draco's shoulders as firmly as I dared, eliciting a contented moan.

After a few minutes he asked, "What does _poulaki_ mean?"

I froze for a minute, then continued rubbing. "It means 'little bird'. Why? Is that what the men are calling you?"

"Yes." Draco's voice was completely expressionless, a sure sign that he was peeved. "I knew it wasn't complimentary, but I didn't know what it meant."

"Ah."

I doubted he would appreciate any words of encouragement or comfort I might have, so I continued rubbing until he turned over and pulled me down beside him. When he didn't say anything, I looked up questioningly only to find that he was already asleep. I chuckled and curled up beside him, waiting for the moon to rise.

The next morning, Draco got up at the crack of dawn with no complaint whatsoever. I knew then that something bad was on the horizon. He didn't say a word as he pulled on the garment Kallias had provided for him—it looked like the bastard child of Kallias' kilt and the sailors' loincloths. He did, however, indulge in a grimace of distaste. I kept my face carefully blank at the sight of his incongruously pale legs and followed him up on deck.

I watched throughout the morning with steadily increasing concern. Draco's face was like a thundercloud, and a muscle had begun to twitch near his eye. Several times I saw his fist clench or his shoulder jerk, as if he were itching to throw a punch. He reminded me of a volcano waiting to blow. And when he did, it wouldn't be pretty. It was only a matter of time.

The time came the next day around noon. I wasn't close enough to hear what was said and I doubted Draco understood it completely anyway, but some things don't need translation. In a flash, Draco was on top of the unfortunate antagonist, beating the living daylights out of him. A couple more decided to join in and dragged Draco off their bleeding comrade. The others found seats or stood nearby, taking bets. Apparently three to one were considered reasonable odds.

Perhaps they were, considering that Draco wasn't exactly small and seemed to have gone insane with rage. In light of these facts, I hurriedly placed a couple of bets of my own as Draco hooked a foot behind one of his captors' ankles and drove his elbow into the other's lower belly. One fell to the floor and the other doubled up, only to get a close up of Draco's knee as it smashed into his face. By this time, the original victim had recovered somewhat and rushed Draco with a roar. With a snarl eerily reminiscent of the one he wore as a leopard, Draco let loose a savage blow that knocked the guy clear off his feet and into a stack of crates. He didn't get up.

The other two were back and one had Draco from behind while the other dealt Draco a nasty punch to the face. Draco lashed out with a foot and caught him square in the balls, leaving just the one combatant. They rolled around for a while, punching, kicking, and clawing at each other, but it ended with Draco sitting on the sailor's chest, beating him mercilessly against the deck.

Like I said, some things don't need translation. "Get the hell off me, I give up," looks the same in every language. So does, "Damn straight, you fucking pansy." Draco hauled himself to his feet and staggered over to the stack of crates, where his original attacker was coming around. I collected my winnings from the glowering sailors and remarked with a smile,

"He's a champion boxer in England, you know. Never lost a fight."

I made my way through the small crowd surrounding Draco, who was having his back slapped and his arms buffeted in congratulations and praise. Blood ran onto his chest from his mouth and nose and a cut above his eye and there were dark bruises already spreading over his cheek and around his ribs, but he looked downright cheerful.

With much backslapping and arm-punching, they all sat down and had a drink. Men are so weird. There appeared to be no love lost between Draco and the men he fought. Quite the opposite. It seemed that the men had accepted him, because from then on they treated him like one of their own. Later that day, Kallias found me leaning over the side, watching a pod of dolphins zip along next to the ship.

"Your Dragon is a fine fighter," he remarked. "The men were wondering how long it would take him to snap. The results were...somewhat unexpected."

"They were doing that on _purpose_?" I demanded.

"Of course," Kallias laughed, throwing his head back. "He lasted longer than anyone thought he would."

"He does have a remarkable amount of self control," I agreed. "Or stubbornness, depending on how you look at it. How is he doing?"

"Very well," Kallias said, stroking his beard meditatively. "You were right, he does learn fast. I think we'll make a sailor of him yet."

"Good," I said. "It makes me feel better knowing that there could be something for him here when we return."

"You are leaving for England, are you not?" Kallias inquired. "What for?"

I sighed. "War."

Kallias was silent for a moment as he regarded my husband. Then he smiled down at me, black eyes twinkling.

"Cousin, save your worry for his enemies—they need it more than he does, no doubt."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Days passed—in complete boredom, at least for me. Now that Draco was one of _them_, I had nothing to entertain me. Well, it was fun watching the men practice knife-fighting (somehow I wasn't surprised to see that Draco was as skilled with knives as he was with his fists). The men even started teaching Draco to fight with a shortsword, which was—apparently—very different from fencing.

But watching them engage in such manly pursuits got old after a while. I spent most of my time talking with Kallias and thinking up new ways to use my magic. I could direct the wind (though Kallias was better at it than I was), I could turn salt water into fresh water (a good thing, since I wouldn't have been able to bathe otherwise), I knew the four points of the compass as if there were magnets in my bones, and I could sense and divert foul weather. I couldn't stop it, but I could sort of bend it so it went around us.

It was on the fifth day, however, that I discovered a truly glorious gift: I could take on any form that I wanted, not just that of a wolf. From then on, I spent much of the day soaring above the ship as a gull or speeding alongside it as a dolphin. It was wonderful. I had to change back periodically, though. The only form I could hold without effort was that of a wolf. I'd had considerably more practice as a wolf, after all.

At night, though, Draco would sometimes join me at the rail and we would talk about how we would live once the war in England was over. He quite enjoyed sailing, he confessed, but didn't really consider it as a profession. I was secretly glad—I didn't want to wait at home for weeks on end while he was out on a boat in the middle of nowhere. I didn't know what he would do, but there was time to think about it, after all.

Instead, he sang to me some songs that he had learned from the men and told me of their new name for him—_Tsichlo_. I laughed and told him what it meant. They were calling him 'thrush', presumably for his voice. It was somewhat more respectable than 'little bird', at least. I was glad that he was getting on with them.

Greece appeared to agree with Draco—his skin had darkened to a deep golden-brown, making his eyes glitter like diamonds in contrast, especially when he smiled. He smiled a lot more nowadays. The sun had bleached his hair as well. Parts of it were nearly white while others remained a sunny gold overlying a darker, tawny shade. He hadn't shaved since we left the mainland and he looked highly disreputable. I liked it.

On the eighth day of our voyage, I woke up to find Draco already awake and getting dressed. I was so flabbergasted that I just stared at him. He seemed excited and distracted and disappeared through the door as soon as he was dressed. Feeling slightly hurt, I shrugged and got out of bed.

Up on deck, the usual cacophony of shouts and manly grunts didn't reach my ears and I felt a surge of fear, struck by the irrational thought that everyone had died. But the men were there—just silent. It made the hair rise on the back of my neck. What in the world was going on? I asked Draco, but he merely shrugged and continued working without looking at me.

Once in a while the wind would shift slightly and I'd catch a faint snatch of a tune, so soft and fleeting that I was convinced I was imagining it. But it kept happening and the sound grew stronger as the morning progressed. When we came in sight of land, an excited mutter ran through the crew. By this time, I had decided that there was definitely music on the wind. Soon I could tell that it was singing and by then I could see the sirens perched on the rocks. Horrified, I ran up to Kallias, who was steering.

"Kallias, what are you doing? Turn around, don't you see the rocks?" He shook me off. "Kallias!"

With a cry of frustration, I ran around deck, pinching and nagging and pleading with the men to listen to me. They all ignored me, including Draco. The music was stronger now, and every man was focused on the cluster of rocks that we were approaching. What could I do? Stupid cows, I thought furiously. Their voices weren't even all that—oh. Duh.

I stood in the prow of the ship, facing the men, and began to sing.

"_Karavi kinthenevi mes' ta vathia nera,_

_Kerkira kai Kefalonia, the' tha se xanantamoso pia_

_Voitha Panagia mou yia na glytosome_

_Kerkira kai Kefalonia, the' tha se xanantamoso pia. . ."_

I sang of their homeland and basically how they would never see it again if they didn't pull their heads out of their asses and their hands away from their cocks. I was desperate and scared and boiling mad at the same time and poured mingled magic and emotion into the song. It's bad enough when your man stares at a woman who's prettier than you--but watching your husband pitch a tent while ogling a bunch of naked, half-human whores is something else again. Ooh, if we live through this, I thought darkly, he's going to beg for forgiveness on his hands and knees for weeks—months—before he gets any.

Gradually the men's attention shifted to me rather than the sirens and Kallias had the presence of mind to turn the boat aside. I kept singing—wordlessly now—until we were safely past the island. I then sat down rather heavily, feeling drained. Draco rushed forward to help me up, but I jerked my arm out of his grasp. I wobbled defiantly to my feet and glared at him.

"Ari," he began, flustered. "Ari, I don't know what came over me. What were those—Ari, wait--"

I brushed past him without a word, ignoring his stammered, disjointed attempts to explain himself. I paused at the head of the ladder leading below decks and turned to face him.

"I don't want to hear another word from you until you get rid of that circus tent in your lap," I snapped.

Draco's eyes snapped downward and a guilty flush crept up his neck. I looked around and, sure enough, every man there looked like a fourteen-year-old with his first porn magazine. To be fair, Ikaro and Iason _were_ fourteen, but the others—my dear husband included—had no such excuse. With a "hmph!" of offended dignity, I whirled around and climbed down the ladder.

Draco slept on the floor that night. And the night after that. On the third night, I relented and let him back in bed (his side of the bed) only because he had been apologizing profusely and showering me with as much charm and flattery—I didn't let him close enough for affection—as he possibly could for the past two days. I was rather proud of myself—it was a personal record for Draco-resistance.

"Ari," he cried in exasperation on the fourth night. "Don't do this. You know you're the only woman I want." He had been inching closer and closer as he said this until he was right behind me with his arms around my waist. "You are my queen"--he planted a kiss on my shoulder-- "my goddess"--one on my neck-- "my angel"--he was nibbling on my earlobe-- "my life. Surely you know that?"

I turned around and slid my arms around his neck. "I know that."

"Good," he said, and kissed me tentatively. "Forgive me?"

I kissed him back with a sigh almost of relief. I had missed him. I didn't like being mad at him. "I forgive you."

"Oh, good." Draco smiled hopefully. "So does that mean we can--"

"No."

"Alright," he said meekly. "Good night, then."

"Goodnight, Draco."

I kissed him again, sliding a hand slowly up his thigh—and stopped. I leaned over him to blow out the candle, steadying myself with a hand on his hip, and cuddled up to him. Draco slipped an arm around my shoulders and sighed.

"You are unspeakably cruel."

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bwahahahahahaha. Ari is so mean. teeheehee. haha. hohoho. hoohoo. ahh...**snort** gigglegigglegiggle...hehehe...okay, I'm done. hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

shai


	12. Be Fruitful and Multiply

yippee! new reviewers!

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I made it up to him the next morning. He had suffered enough, poor boy. And it had occurred to me that I had—perhaps—been a teensy bit unreasonable. At any rate, we were both in considerably better spirits that day and cheered with the rest of the crew when we came in sight of land again. This was an uninhabited island, Kallias explained, one used by sailors from all the Achaean kingdoms to rest and resupply. Basically, a rest stop on the highway of the Aegean. It even had a scenic overlook—several, I imagine. With a long drop to the bottom.

I was more than happy to collect firewood and build a fire like a good little wife while the men hunted. When that was done, however, I left the few men who had stayed behind with me and slipped away to do some hunting of my own. I'd never actually hunted with a bow (or anything else, for that matter) before and wanted to try my hand at it. I was a pretty good shot and a better tracker than most due to my enhanced sense of smell and hearing. I was bound to get _something_.

After a few minutes of struggling through the tall grass and flowers with my dress, I paused and gathered it up into my hands, wondering what to do with it. I tried several different things, but found that it worked best if I tied the ends together between my legs. _Voila—_pants. Sort of.

The going was much easier after that and I soon picked up the scent of a deer. No, that wouldn't do—I'd never get it back to camp. I kept going until I picked up another scent; rabbit, this time. There we go. I followed the trail silently until I came upon my prey nibbling in a hollow. I made sure I was downwind and crouched down low, maneuvering my bow into place. I took careful aim, shot—and missed. The rabbit zipped away and I was on it in a flash in wolf form. Ah, well. I tried. I guess I'd do it my way.

I caught the rabbit just before it reached its bolt hole—the damn thing was fast—and swiftly broke its neck. I trotted back to my bow with my prize swinging jauntily from my jaws and changed back. I hastily spat the rabbit out and wiped my mouth. Note to self: spit food out _before_ changing back. Yuck.

I examined my catch and frowned. It was all too obvious that it had been killed by an animal, not an arrow. How to fix that? Did healing work on dead things? I tried. Ah, what luck. The rents in its flesh closed and the neck realigned, leaving it smooth and fuzzy once more. Then I took my bow and shot it through the rabbit. There, that's better, I thought, looking over my handiwork. I retrieved the arrow, grasped the rabbit by its ears, and headed back. The wolf inside me was pleased—I hadn't been able to run free on the ship and it was taking its toll on me.

Back in camp, I proudly displayed my prize and accepted the laughing congratulations of the men, who skinned it and promised to make it a special treat. Draco returned with the rest of the men sometime later, helping to drag a huge boar out of the forest. It was a big, vicious looking brute with nasty, curved tusks and beady eyes. Several of the men were limping slightly or favoring various limbs. Draco himself was dripping blood from a deep gash in one thigh.

With a cry of alarm, I hurried over and dragged Draco onto a rock.

"Christ, Draco," I fretted. "That thing could have killed you."

"In case you haven't noticed," he said dryly, "_we_ killed _it_."

I rolled my eyes, recognizing my own words. "Hold still."

I healed the wound and looked up to find the men staring at me curiously. I beckoned the nearest one over and healed him, too. By the time I was done with everyone, I was a bit light headed and had to lie down while the food cooked. Draco sat beside me and lightly rubbed my back while I dozed.

Foggily, I was aware that he was taking part in the conversation and joking around with the other men. He was learning quickly—he wasn't fluent, yet, but he was nearly there. You learn a lot faster when you have no other choice, I reflected. None of the crew spoke a word of English. It made a little bubble of happiness grow inside me to know that Draco could become one of us. We would come back after the war and live here and he would be happy.

I remembered Yiayia's assurance, "_It's okay, we'll make him Greek."_ At church back in America, I'd seen many a Greek housewife who wasn't Greek at all, but had become Greek as a result of prolonged exposure to the husband's family. It's like radiation—over-exposure results in mutation.

Night had already fallen when Draco shook me awake and handed me a flask of wine. I drank gratefully, savoring the sweet, sharp taste of it and passed it on. We ate heartily, for this was the first hot food we'd had (well, beside fish) since leaving the mainland. It was delicious.

Afterward, several of the men produced instruments seemingly from thin air. There were several drums, a guitar, a _lyra_, and a _bouzouki. _As the musicians struck up a tune, several others got up to dance, executing amazing acrobatic maneuvers midair. I laughed and clapped along with the music, enjoying the skillful display. Draco, too, was watching avidly. I hid a grin. Unless I was very much mistaken, he'd be bugging the sailors to teach him for the rest of the journey. As song after song was played, we danced and taught Draco the _kalamatiano_, the _tsamiko, hasapiko, syrto,_ and others. He got the hang of each very quickly and appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. I even learned a few new ones, probably native to Vouna.

Then the drums began a familiar beat and the men called out for me to dance. I protested, laughing, but they dragged me to my feet and spun me into the circle of firelight. I whipped off my veil and tied it around my hips for the _chiftetelli—_the belly dance. I shook my hair back and let the music take me. This, I could do. I might not be able to flirt my way into a club, but I knew I could render any man speechless with the slow, undulating movements that the _chiftetelli_ called for. My cousin Anthoula and I were the best belly dancers in town. Christo and my other young, male, highly excitable cousins had gotten into more than one fistfight on our account—supposedly in defense of our honor, but I myself suspected that ouzo was the real culprit.

As I danced, I locked eyes with Draco and the world disappeared. I knew that, for the other men, I was merely a vision—untouchable and utterly unreachable. An empty promise. But for Draco...I saw my promise reflected in his eyes and it was anything but empty. After I danced, no one noticed us slip away in the flurry of dancing and food and wine. Or, if they did, they didn't show it.

We stayed on at the island a couple more days to resupply and rest. I helped dry meat and fish and find vegetable matter that would keep. I asked Kallias how long the rest of the journey would take and he said he thought we should make it in a week, tops. I tried to be heartened by this—after all, I had survived about that long on the ship already. But the fact was that I'd nearly gone insane. I loved the sea. I adored it. But I would much rather be _in_ the sea than floating on top of it.

"Kallias," I said as we loaded everything onto the ship. "Are you sure we have enough for the rest of the journey?"

"We have enough for a few days," Kallias said with a blithe shrug.

"A few days? But you said--"

"Well, we have another stop to make before we reach the _Deloi_," Kallias told me.

"Where are we stopping?"

"Vouna," he said, eyes twinkling down on me. "The men have been away too long. We will be passing right by—it wouldn't be fair to keep them from their homes. And it is high time you met your family."

"How are you related to me again?"

Kallias laughed. "I don't really remember. But I _am_ related to you, and that's what matters." Draco joined us and Kallias clapped him fondly on the back. "Everything loaded?" Draco nodded, earning him another buffet. "You're a good boy, _Tsichlo."_

_"_We're apparently going to Vouna," I informed him as Kallias moved off, bellowing orders. "To meet my family and let the men spend time with theirs."

"More family?" Draco said incredulously, shaking his head. "How many of you are there?"

I frowned. "You haven't even met my whole family—the ones I knew about, I mean. You've only met Christo and his parents."

"And your grandparents."

"And my grandparents," I agreed. I looked up at him curiously. "What about your family?" His face darkened and I hastily added, "Extended family, I mean. Don't you have cousins and aunts and uncles?"

"Yes," Draco said, leaning his forearms on the rail. "My father's younger brother lives in Germany with his wife. They have a son, I think, but I've never met him. I met my uncle once, when my father died. I had to carry him the news myself since he refused to return to England." Seeing my confused look, he told me, "He disagreed with my father's affiliation with the Death Eaters rather strongly. You remember how I said I was planning an escape route from England? He was part of the plan."

"And your mother's side?" I prompted tentatively, not sure if it was a sore subject.

"My aunt Bellatrix," he said with grim humor, "is a murderous, bloodthirsty bitch. She's also the Dark Lord's right hand and completely insane. And she wasn't the only nutcase in my family—just the only one that's still alive. It scares me that she hasn't died yet."

I smiled crookedly. "My cousin Dimitri is in law school," I offered. "Since we're talking about insanity and blood lust."

Draco blinked and then laughed. He quickly sobered. "D'you think they'll like me? Assuming I live to meet them, of course."

It was spoken in a carefully nonchalant tone, but he didn't meet my eyes and his grip on the rail was a little too firm. It mattered more to him than he wanted to let on. It made me smile.

"They'll love you," I said gently, and leaned against him. "And don't talk like that. You're not going to die."

Draco lifted an eyebrow. "That so?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "You do not have my permission to die under any circumstances."

"Well, in that case..." Draco said sarcastically, but he was smiling.

Just then a burly sailor beckoned to Draco. "_Tsichlo_! Come, give us a song!"

"And your lady, too!"

I borrowed the guitar and Draco and I sang several songs, both Greek and British. When Draco's hands were needed, I continued playing while the men worked. The next time they took a break to practice fighting, I insisted that they teach me, too. I had run myself ragged the few days we were on the island, but I was still restless. I couldn't just sit around anymore. The sailors laughed, but humored me, teaching me the basics of how to use a knife and different defensive maneuvers. The activity kept me relatively sane, but I was nonetheless ecstatic when I awoke one morning to find that we had reached Vouna.

It was bizarre—like a mix of ancient and modern Greece. Or perhaps it was the ancient Greece that I saw in modern Greece. Whitewashed buildings and tile probably weren't recent phenomena, after all. Draco and I followed Kallias up the hill to the palace in a daze, trying to take everything in. He showed us to the rooms we would occupy for the next few days and assured us that bathing opportunities and refreshment would be provided. I flopped down on the low—wide—bed and sighed, stretching my legs as far as they could go. It was a welcome relief after the cramped bed we had been sharing for the past couple of weeks. I suddenly wondered how on earth Kallias had ever fit into it.

When at last I forced myself to get off the wondrous bed, it was to welcome a young girl bearing a tray of bread, fruit, nuts, cheeses, honey, and wine. I had at first been concerned about all the wine-drinking when we boarded Kallias' boat, but the wine really wasn't all that strong. It was more like grape juice with a kick. Draco and I started to eat, expecting the girl to let herself out, but she stayed. I paused, glancing at her questioningly, but she stood with her hands clasped behind her back, staring at Draco.

"Is there something my husband can help you with?" I asked, trying to mask my confusion and irritation with politeness.

The girl's attention snapped to me. "Oh, no, _kyria_. I'm to wait and show you to the bathhouse." She shot another glance at Draco. "I've never seen a _xeno _before. Are they very uncivilized?"

"Oh, to be sure," Draco answered for himself—very dryly. "I'm a complete barbarian."

The girl flushed and stammered an apology.

"It's—it's--" Draco looked at me for help. I guess 'it's okay' wasn't a phrase he heard much among the sailors.

"_Entaxi_," I supplied. To the girl, I said, "_Then pirazi_. He _is_ a barbarian. Would you like some? If you're going to wait, you might as well eat."

"Thank you, _kyria._ I'll just have some bread," she said shyly. "The prince said you were his kin—from the mainland. He said you grew up as one of the _Minmagikoi_."

"So I did," I agreed. "But I was still--" I stopped myself. As Hermes had told me, the gods did not reveal themselves to everyone. "I still honored the gods, regardless. I came into my powers a very short while ago."

"Are they very different, the _Minmagokoi_?" the girl asked.

"Completely," I assured her.

"And the _magoi_ who use the new magic?" she pressed. "We have some trade with them and I saw them once when we hosted them here at the palace. They didn't seem so different. But I saw another—a young one—and he wore the strangest clothing. It looked very uncomfortable."

I laughed. "I daresay it did. The _Minmagikoi_ can be very strange indeed. The young man you saw was probably wearing clothes of their style."

"How do the new _magoi_ dress, then?" Draco asked a little haltingly.

"Like us," the girl said. "Like any normal person would."

"Not in robes, then," Draco murmured in English. "Strange."

"Not so strange," I disagreed. "Can you imagine how hot those huge robes would be? What's your name?" I asked the girl.

"Demetroula," she replied, eying the fruit with intense interest.

"Well, Demetroula, I'm more than ready for a bath," I said, handing her an orange. "Lead the way. We can leave the food here to finish when we get back."

Demetroula led us through winding passageways and bright courtyards to the bathhouse which was quite literally an entire house devoted to bathing. There were several baths—a large one, presumably for public bathing, and others surrounded by gauzy curtains for privacy.

"Can you remember the way back?" Demetroula asked, leading us to one of the private baths.

I nodded. "Thank you."

"My duty but also my pleasure, _kyria_," she replied cheerfully. "I'll leave you towels and fresh clothes on this bench here. I'll be by this evening to take you to the feast."

"Thank you," I said again. "I look forward to it."

As soon as she turned her back I undid the clasp at my shoulder and let my dress fall to the floor. I stepped into the bath and collapsed, sighing with pleasure. I opened my eyes to see Draco standing above me, looking like one of the statues dotted throughout the building. He entered the hot water somewhat more decorously but seemed just as relieved. He let out a long groan as he settled back, closing his eyes.

"I think this might be heaven," I remarked, moving away from the submerged bench to float on my back.

"It certainly seems like it after that sorry excuse for a bed," Draco agreed. "I don't think my neck will ever be the same."

"We'll see about that," I said, and motioned for him to turn around so I could rub the afflicted area.

I had to kneel on the bench to give the massage—the water came up to Draco's chest when sitting down but tickled my chin in the same position. Draco seemed to melt as I kneaded his neck and shoulders. I moved up to his head and used the frothy substance I took to be shampoo of some kind and was quite pleased with the light scent it gave off. When I finished my ministrations, Draco returned the favor—and then some. He had to physically lift me out of the bath when we were done since, between the hot water and Draco's attentions, my muscles had turned to jelly. Badly made, watery jelly at that.

We dressed and exited the curtained bath. I was still rubbing my hair with a towel—I hated it when my hair dripped onto my back. I secured it with a pin that Demetroula had thoughtfully provided and looked at my husband with a mix of affection and irritation. His hair stood up in wet spikes, but I knew they would dry perfectly into that hazy area between scruffy and rakish. A sweep of a comb would then render them dashing and sophisticated.

Even though my hair was always—dare I say it, supernaturally—perfect, I knew that plenty of girls would like very much to have him drawn and quartered or at least hanged for the crime of having such well behaved locks. I've found that, in general, women tend to regard their hair as an adversary that must be beaten into submission—or in some cases, negotiated with—every morning. Regardless of my own happy alliance with my hair, it was my duty to be indignant on behalf of all womanhood.

"What are you thinking?" Draco asked, somewhat apprehensively.

"I was just thinking that we are quite possibly the best looking couple in the history of the universe," I said with a smile and looped my arm through his.

"And just think of what that means for our children," Draco said lightly, then shuddered. "I hope we don't have girls. Boys will be on them like flies on a warthog's--"

"_Yeiasou, kyr Tsichlo!" _one of the sailors hailed him as he passed us, saving me from having to make a response to this troubling notion. He gave the two of us a wicked glance. "Enjoy your bath?"

I frowned after him. "Why does everyone always assume we have nothing on our minds but sex?"

"Oh, that's easy," Draco said with a grin. "We've been married less than two weeks and have spent the duration of our marriage cooped up on a ship."

"Fair point," I admitted ruefully. "Do you want to explore the town a little bit? Just to prove that we can, in fact, engage in respectable past times, of course."

"Of course," Draco agreed, slipping an arm around my shoulders. "But not yet. I have something else in mind."

"You're kidding," I said incredulously. "You can't possibly--"

"Ari, what _are _you thinking?" Draco said severely. "Ye gods, woman."

"What in the world are you talking about, then?"

"I was _referring_ to the plate of snacks in our room," he said with a disapproving glance at me. "I'm hungry again."

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After a reviving snack, I unearthed my little bag of gold and silver coins that I had won off of Draco's fight and tied it to my belt.

"Where did you get that?" Draco asked curiously as he dug through the trunk trying to find his own money bag. He found it and peered into it. "D'you think they'll take English coins?"

"Probably, as long as they're real gold and silver" I said with a shrug. "And, to answer your first question, I placed a few bets on that fight."

"What did you bet with?" Draco asked.

"The money that I was sure you'd have," I said with a grin. "I knew you'd win."

"Your faith in me warms my heart," he said dryly. "Almost as much as your faith in my money."

"What's the date?" I asked suddenly. "It must be nearly May by now."

"I have no idea," Draco said, looking surprised. "I can find out, though. Hold on."

Draco reached into the trunk again and pulled out his wand, which I hadn't seen since we left my grandmother's. It was a strange thought. He flicked it and muttered some sort of mumbo-jumbo and it emitted a puff of smoke. The smoke then formed the numbers 4-28-03. Very handy, I thought approvingly.

"Four days until my birthday," Draco cried gleefully. "Twenty-three."

"You know, there's a muggle song that used to be really popular," I said thoughtfully. "One of the lines of the chorus is, 'nobody loves you when you're twenty three'."

"Nonsense," Draco said, locking his wand back in the trunk. "You will. You can't resist me."

"Actually, I was thinking of taking a year off," I said, forcing myself to keep my voice light. "Don't worry, though—only until you turn twenty four."

I fell silent after that as we headed down into the town. I felt kind of strange. He was turning twenty three. I hadn't really thought about it all that much but right now it was hard to ignore the fact that I was barely eighteen and married to a man five years older. And what about college? Were there acceptance letters waiting for me in the village back at Greenwood? Would I even go to college? After everything that happened, college seemed almost like a joke. And now I couldn't imagine not coming back to Greece. What was I going to do with my life? I shouldn't be facing this question yet. I shouldn't even be worrying about it for another few years. I was _eighteen_, for God's sake.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Draco asked, stopping and facing me.

I hesitated. "Draco...does it bother you?"

"Does what bother me?" he asked confusedly.

"That I'm so much younger than you," I mumbled, not looking at him.

Draco paused like he was trying to figure out what I was talking about and then laughed. "Merlin, I'd completely forgotten. You really do seem much older than you actually are, you know. And, no, it doesn't bother me to have a young, nubile, highly attractive virgin as a wife. At least, you were a virgin on our wedding night."

"Pig," I said, slapping his arm lightly. We continued into the town and I tucked my hand under his arm. "In that case, I'll buy you a really nifty birthday present."

"With the money you won by exploiting my body," Draco affecting indignation.

"I prefer to think of it as taking advantage," I replied, and stopped to look at a beautiful woven tapestry depicting the contest between Arachne and Athena.

"What's that?" Draco asked curiously, looking over my shoulder. "Who are they?"

"That's Athena," I explained, indicating the goddess. "And that's Arachne. She boasted that she could weave better than Athena and Athena called her on it. After Arachne lost—miserably—she tried to hang herself but Athena took pity on her and turned her into a spider so she could weave forever."

"Oh," Draco said dubiously. "That's...er, nice."

"Look at that one," I said, pointing. "That's me."

"Pardon?"

"My namesake," I clarified. "She was the daughter of Minos—the king of Crete."

"What happened to her?" Draco asked. "What's she giving to that man?"

"A sword and a spool of thread," I said with a smile. "That's Theseus." I drew my finger farther down the tapestry to where Theseus was fighting the Minotaur. "Theseus came to Crete to rescue the Athenian youths meant to feed the Minotaur in the Labyrinth of Knossos. Ariadne gave him the sword so he could kill it and the thread so he could find his way out."

"And they got married after?" Draco asked, inspecting the tapestry. "It looks like they did. She's sailing away with him."

"Well, yes. There are several stories," I said. "Some say that they forged an alliance between Athens and Crete—Theseus was prince of Athens—and others say that Theseus abandoned her on the island of Naxos. Some say that the god Dionysos then wed her and others say that he had Artemis kill her because he was angry that she tried to run off with Theseus. Another story goes that Artemis killed her out of pity because she was so sad without Theseus. The only thing the stories agree on is that she left Crete and suffered greatly."

"Greek myths are so. . . uplifting," Draco said, looking uneasy. I peered at him, thinking he looked kind of sick.

"I wouldn't read into it too much," I said, tugging him away from the tapestry. "My mother just liked the name, that's all."

"How come your family calls you Katerina and I call you Ari?" Draco asked me. "Which is your real name, anyway? Grey introduced you to me as Ariadne."

"Ariadne is my middle name. Ancient names aren't all that common in Greece," I said. "They prefer Christian names—and my grandmother's name is Katerina. I was always Kahtia or Kahti at home and Ariadne at school." I grinned. "I liked the idea that I was named after a princess so I made my teachers call me Ariadne. It just stuck."

"Were you born here or in America?" Draco asked. "You always refer to Greece as your home."

"I was born here," I said. "My parents spent a lot of time here even though they lived in America."

"So you have dual citizenship?" Draco asked, and I nodded.

"Why so many questions?" I asked curiously.

"Just trying to distract myself," he replied, rubbing his head. "I don't very well all of a sudden. Which was your first language?"

"I'm not sure," I said, surprised. "I can't remember a time when I couldn't speak both. I should ask Yiayia when we get back."

Draco smiled, but it looked somewhat forced. I suppressed a shiver of fear. He really wasn't sure if he _would_ come back. I opened my mouth to say something, but he shook his head curtly and I subsided. Instead, I bought us each a stick of _souvlaki _tonibble on as we wandered from stall to stall. This appeared to cheer him up. They say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. This may be an exaggeration, but only a small one. Food won't cure all a man's ills, but it will certainly help matters a great deal.

We passed a tavern and a shout went up from a group seated outside. It was the sailors from Kallias's ship. Draco raised a hand in greeting and headed in that direction.

"You go," I said, disengaging myself. "I can't have you loitering around while I buy your present."

"Are you sure?" Draco bent his head to kiss me, glaring at a passing youth who had been staring. "I don't like the idea of you wandering around by yourself."

"I'll be fine," I assured him. "Honestly, Draco. I'm not a child."

"No, you're a woman," he said bluntly, but he sighed and released me after a moment.

"Alright," he said reluctantly. "I'll come find you in a little bit."

I watched as Draco was enveloped by the seething mass of back-slapping, arm-punching testosterone and turned away with a faint smile. He _would_ come back alive and well. He had friends here, now, and every opportunity to make a life here. I was determined to do all I could to ensure his safe return. Right now, there wasn't much I could do, but there was a little something I thought I could do for his sudden 'illness'.

It took some searching before I found what I was looking for, but I eventually succeeded. The old woman selling various charms listened as I described what I wanted and displayed several specimens for me to examine. I picked up one of the small blue eyes made of glass and held it up.

"And these have protective charms that extend beyond the_ mati_?" I asked, and she nodded.

"They serve as wards against most lower-level curses cast with the new magic and some more powerful ones," she told me, "as well as against bad luck and the _mati_."

"Perfect," I said. "Which one is the most powerful?"

"This one," she said. "And it's ten gold coins."

I counted out ten and found I had one left. Ah, well. I wouldn't be here that long, anyway. I handed over the coins and accepted the small wrapped parcel in return. That done, I wandered about aimlessly, worrying about Draco. I was concerned that he had fallen victim to the_ mati—_the evil eye. I myself had never had trouble with it. I, like my grandmother, had always had the ability to dispel negative energy.

Draco had never given any indication of being susceptible to it—he was much too self-confident and strong character-wise to let other people's bad vibes affect him. If he was feeling it now, whoever was directing it at him must feel very strongly. But who could it be? We hadn't even been here a full day. Suddenly I felt the need to find him. Surely Bellum couldn't have found us here?

As if he could hear my thoughts, Draco appeared at my side.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking me over. "You're frightened."

"Is it that obvious?" I asked.

"Only to me," he said. "Your eyes get sort of dark and shadowy when you're scared. What is it?"

"I'm not sure," I said nervously. "Here—I know your birthday's not for a few days, but I want to give it to you now."

I gave him the parcel and he unwrapped it curiously, revealing the blue eye in a gold setting. He slipped the chain over his head and picked the charm up off his chest to look at it.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a _matochandro_," I told him. "A charm against the evil eye." Seeing his incredulous look, I continued hotly, "It's true. That's why you were feeling sick before. The evil eye is cast by a person who is envious of you or harbors bad feelings for you. That particular charm also protects against some spells and curses cast by your kind of magic."

"Why did you want to give it to me now?" he asked, frowning at the glass eye.

"Because someone cast the evil eye on you," I cried, frustrated. "Look, whoever cast it feels very strongly if you're feeling its effects. And who could possibly feel that strongly about you when we just got here? What if Bellum somehow found us or--"

"Ari," Draco interrupted. "Hush. I'm glad I have it."

"You—you are?" I pulled back a little to look up at him. "You believe me about the evil eye?"

"Well, the last time I didn't completely believe you, you almost got raped," he reasoned. "I'm not inclined to repeat the mistake. And I do feel much better now."

"Oh. Good." I touched the charm lightly with a finger. "The woman who sold it to me said it would protect you from most little spells and some more powerful ones. I don't know how much use it will be to you, but I thought..."

"I'm sure it will work," he assured me, tucking my arm through his "I didn't want to make you nervous, but there _was_ someone following me. I'm not sure who he is, but he didn't look completely Greek—I thought, anyway. He had blue eyes, for one thing. So don't worry, alright? I'm on top of it."

"Some say blue-eyed people are more likely to cast the evil eye," I remarked, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder. "It was probably him."

"People certainly were giving him a wide berth," he agreed. "Why aren't I getting the same treatment?"

"Your eyes are silver," I said. "That's not so bad. Athena herself has gray eyes."

Draco turned to wave to one of the sailors we had passed, calling out a greeting. When he turned back around, he looked grim but not worried.

"He's following us," he said.

I didn't react but gathered my magic to me so it hung about us like a protective cloud. Whoever this guy was, he couldn't do anything to us at the moment—magically, at least. Did he use the new magic or the old? Damned if I was going to get close enough to smell him. If he didn't use the new magic, did that mean he wasn't connected to Bellum? Draco hadn't known about the old magic—did Bellum?

We returned to our rooms to find Demetroula waiting with a few other girls. When I voiced my confusion, Demetroula smiled and pointed to the pile of clothes and jewelery waiting on the bed.

"I'll change in the other room, then, shall I?" Draco suggested, hastily snatching up his own pile of clothes and retreating into the small antechamber.

As soon as he was through the door, the girls pounced on me like a pack of hyenas, whipping my dress off and stuffing me into a new one faster than you can say 'opah!' Then they attacked my hair. winding it and twisting it around gold wire and jabbing it with pins. It reminded me very much of Callie—minus the leather and spikes. Soon they were stabbing me in the eye with kohl and rubbing something onto my lips with a tad more force than was strictly necessary. One girl lassoed me with a few necklaces while the others slapped bracelets on my wrists and ankles like shackles. My sandals, interestingly enough, they left alone, opting instead to anoint me with sweet smelling oils.

I didn't even have time to protest. The entire process took about ninety seconds, tops. The trio stood back to survey their handiwork while I swayed dizzily before them. I apparently passed muster, for they smiled and held up a mirror so I could see for myself. The new dress was a dark blue patterned with gold and belted with a white sash. The clasp at my shoulder was gold, as were my jewelery and the wire holding my hair up in an elaborate headdress.

I was startled to see that my hair had lightened from the sun and my skin was darker than I'd thought. My hair, normally so dark it was almost black, was now streaked with lighter bronze and, in places, dark almost-blond. Where Draco turned a toasty gold in the sun, I turned brown, like whole wheat toast. Taken together with the dress and gold, I felt very exotic. It was kind of exciting.

In the mirror I saw Draco emerge from his hiding place, fully dressed in a kilt like Kallias' but in black and patterned with silver. He had a gray sash slung across his chest in place of a vest. Technically speaking, the gold and blue charm I'd given him didn't really go with the color scheme, but he still looked damn good.

"I haven't worn this much clothing in a while," he said ruefully, tugging at his sash. "How do I look?"

"Don't fish for compliments," I said, crossing to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

He smiled sardonically and touched my hair lightly. "Try not to poke my eyes out with that, won't you?"

"I'll try," I promised. "I feel like I have a bouquet of pineapples on my head."

"Well, then, shall we?" Draco said, looking at the girls expectantly.

They nodded and led us through the halls until we came to a large courtyard filled with talking, laughing people, cooking meat, and meat that looked like it could have been talking and laughing—or at least bleating in terror—not too long ago. Kallias stood and beckoned to us and we made our way through the throng of people to sit at his table. His grandparents (the king and queen) sat a table raised above the rest along with five other couples. That must be the most immediate royal family, I thought. The ruling couple and their children.

"Our cousin, Ariadne," Kallias announced to his table without preamble. "And her husband, Dragon. But we call him _Tsichlo. _You'll sing tonight, won't you, lad?"

Draco grinned as Kallias slung an arm around his neck. We sat and Kallias proceeded to introduce us to the rest of the table.

"My brothers you know already," he said. "So. At the end there is Alcaeos and his brother Aias, Danaos, Barates, Ceas, Hylas, and Idaios,. The girls are Evadne, Galatea, Iolanthe, Katina and Kassandra—my sisters; they're twins—and little Hyrmina. All cousins, of course, except Hyrmina and Barates. They're cousin Lasos' children. Lasos is first of us in line for the throne after his father. And here he is; Lasos and his wife Achaia. Ision and Clymene, Lysimachos and Ianessa, and Peiros and Melanthe."

"You haven't introduced my baby," Ianessa—no, Clymene—said, cuddling a gurgling, cooing bundle of cloth.

"Ah," Kallias said, squinting. "That's...hmmm."

"Stachys," she supplied, smiling tolerantly. "You've also forgotten Melanthe's Menelaia and Ianessa's Nikias."

Two toddlers appeared seemingly out of nowhere, climbing into their mother's laps. Unfortunately, I was seated next to Ianessa—and her small son. Nikias stared at me solemnly, as if sizing me up. I resisted the urge to scoot closer to Draco and stared back as repressively as I could.

"Welcome, cousin," Ianessa said warmly, leaning over to kiss my cheek.

Nikias took this as an opportunity to seize my earring and tug unmercifully. With a strangled noise of protest and pain, I tried to pry his fingers off. Ianessa had turned to chat with Clymene and was ignoring my battle with her offspring completely.

"What are you doing there, little man?"

Draco leaned over and presented a finger to Nikias, who released my earring and transferred his grip to Draco's finger. Draco plucked the Nikias from his mother's lap after a brief inquiry and settled the little boy on his own knee, bouncing him up and down. The little fiend crowed with delight and gabbled in Greek baby talk, which Draco ignored and continued speaking animatedly—if mostly incorrectly—with Kallias. I glared at them both while I made sure my earlobe was still there. I suddenly remembered the little girl I'd found in London and how she had instantly taken to Draco as well. Wasn't it against the laws of nature or something for assassins to be good with kids?

The food was served and I was just helping myself to some roast pig when Ision—or possibly Lysimachos—looked up, grinning.

"Ah, here he is—late, as usual." He smiled at me, eyes twinkling. "Someone you know, cousin."

"What?" I turned around and my jaw dropped. "_Christo_?"

"Surprise!" Christo grinned and reached out as if to ruffle my hair, then thought better of it and kissed my cheek instead. "Scoot over."

Dazedly, I did so and continued to stare at him as he sat down and greeted Draco, who looked delighted at his arrival. With effort, I closed my gaping jaw and settled for narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Christo turned and flinched slightly at my expression but didn't stop shoving meat and potatoes simultaneously into his mouth.

"So?" I asked pointedly.

"I'm a mage," he said. "Like your Dragon. And I have a very little bit of old magic—I have the points of the compass in my head and I can tell when people are lying."

"How long?" I demanded.

"Kahti," he said placatingly, "I would have told you if I could. But you didn't have the magic—or at least, everyone thought you didn't--"

"Everyone?" I asked shrilly. "_Everyone_? Who, exactly, is everyone?"

Christo cringed. "Eh...Yiayia, Mama, Anthoula, and Eleni. Well, and Papou, but he thought it was just as well that you didn't have it. He doesn't really like it. I'm the only one with the new magic but the others all have much more old magic than I do."

"And they all know about Kallias and Vouna and—everything?"

"Mm. Yes," he said reluctantly. "Yes, they do. Anthoula is still at school and Eleni has Mina to deal with, otherwise they'd be here."

"So you're not studying medicine," I said in a flat tone of voice.

"No, I am!" Christo protested quickly. "I didn't lie about that. But it's magical medicine. I'm also training to be a _kinigos_."

"A hunter?" I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I think he means an Auror," Draco interjected. "I told you about them, remember? A dark wizard catcher."

I scowled and stabbed moodily at my food.

"Kahti, don't be mad," Christo pleaded. "I wanted to tell you, I swear. But secrecy is essential to both societies. I would have been breaking the law if I told you."

"You could have told me when I got here," I said accusingly. "Don't tell me you didn't realize what was going on when Draco and I showed up."

"Yiayia told me not to," he said, as if that were a perfectly good reason for a grown man not to tell me something that had apparently been weighing heavily on his conscience for years and years.

Sadly, it _was_ a perfectly good reason.

"Hmph," I said, and glared at my food.

Draco squeezed my shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, Ari. If you could forgive me, you can forgive him."

Oooh, they were ganging up on me, the bastards. Fine, then.

"Of course I forgive him," I said with a sweet smile. "How are you enjoying your food, Christo?"

"Eh? Oh, it's—it's good," he said uncertainly, and attempted a dashing smile. "Not as good as your cooking, though."

"How kind of you to say so," I said politely, and returned to my food, replying to both Draco and Christo with polite monosyllables whenever they tried to engage me in conversation.

I was getting really, really sick of being kept in the dark. I was going to have a long chat with certain family members when I came home. All these years, I thought Christo simply went to a boarding school. All these years, I'd had another set of family members I'd known nothing about. I felt cheated. This was such a wondrous, beautiful place, and I hadn't been allowed to to experience it.

"Come, cousin," Kallias said, interrupting my brooding thoughts. "I will present you to my grandparents now. _Tsichlo_, too."

Draco and I got up and followed Kallias to the dais where his grandparents sat. They greeted us warmly and cordially, but with little sincerity—at least on the king's part. My grandmother's cousin--the queen—seemed genuinely pleased to meet us. Next we met Kallias' parents and aunts and uncles. They were nice, but I'm sure they had too many nieces and nephews as it was without me and Draco thrown in.

Luckily, the dancing began then and I joined the women for the first dance. Gradually I forgot about my irritation with Christo and Draco, who was guilty by association. Some of the dances I didn't know, but I picked up the steps quickly and my cousins were there to help me. Clymene and Melanthe especially were lively and cheerful and had me smiling and laughing with them the entire time.

When I stopped to get a drink, I noticed Draco and Christo seated in a shadowed corner, apparently having a rather heated argument. I drifted closer and sat with my back to them, sipping water.

"I could help you," Christo was insisting. "I'm basically finished with my training—and I've done well in all my courses. Why pass up an extra man?"

"Because you have no experience to speak of," Draco said firmly. "Training is all well and good but you've never actually been out there doing it. You've never fought in earnest—never killed."

"And I suppose you have," Christo said belligerently.

"Yes," Draco said simply, his tone suddenly going flat and cold. "Since I was sixteen. So trust me when I tell you it's very different outside the classroom. It's _war_, Christo, not a game."

"I understand that," Christo said, sounding chastened but determined. "But there's no way to just ease into it. No one's going to go easy on me until I gain enough experience."

"True," Draco conceded. "However, I'm going to have enough trouble just getting Ari to safety without having to worry about you as well."

"You don't have to worry about me," Christo said stubbornly.

"Yes, I do," Draco said. "Ari would--"

"Wait, just listen—I have the old magic," Christo interrupted. "I don't have very much, but everyone with the old magic has a certain amount of—immunity—to the new magic. Because it's a god-gift, you know. That would be useful to you."

"Really," Draco said thoughtfully. I didn't turn around, but I imagined him running a hand through his hair. "Tell me, are there others like you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Others with both the old and new magic, who wish to fight the Dark Lord," Draco elaborated.

"Oh, yes," Christo said fervently. "Everyone has heard of the great evil in the north. Plenty would be willing to fight."

"And the old magic," Draco continued. "Is it any good, taken by itself? Can you make war with it?"

"In a manner of speaking," Christo said slowly. "Wizards have magic, but they're still human and can die like any other human. The _Achaeoi_ use bows, spears, swords, knives—all sorts of weapons. But we enchant them. Old magic is especially effective, because if it's set by a powerful old-mage it can punch through practically any magical barrier. The _Achaeoi_ place great store in archery—they have the best archers in the world. And we have the Amazons. They would be more than willing to fight."

"Are there people with old magic outside of Greece?" Draco asked. "I've never heard of anything like it in England."

"There probably is something like it in England and you just don't recognize it for what it is," Christo said. "But, yes—there are servants of the old gods in Egypt and Persia—or what used to be Persia—India, the Far East, the Americas. All over the world. There must be some in England."

"I'll tell you what, Christo," Draco said slowly. "I will take Ari to Scotland and see her safe. I'll talk to the leaders of the resistance and see what they're situation is. If they need reinforcements, I'll contact you. In the meantime, you rally whatever forces you can. Then, if necessary, we can figure out how and when to get them to England."

"Alright," Christo said grudgingly. "I'm coming with you to Delos, though."

"I'm glad of it," Draco told him. "You've spoken to Kallias about tonight?" Christo must have nodded, because Draco said, "Good."

Now, that was interesting. I waited and listened for any more interesting tidbits, but none were forthcoming. Draco was instead teasing Christo about some girl or another. I got up and was about to rejoin the dancing when Clymene and Melanthe converged on me with their respective bundles of joy.

"Here, meet your nephew," Clymene said, placing little Stachys in my arms before I could protest.

I held him gingerly and looked down at the small face, which was scrunched in dismay. He looked like he was deciding whether he was disgruntled enough to throw a fit. I tried to hand him back to Clymene, but she settled him more firmly in my arms and went to get a drink.

"You look like you've never held a child before," Melanthe admonished. "What will you do when you have your own children?"

"I don't plan on having children for a long time," I said fervently. "If ever."

"Bah," she said dismissively. "Every woman wants to have children. You're just afraid of the idea of motherhood. You'll get over it."

My grandmother had told me much the same thing, but I personally had my doubts. I looked down at the drooling, squirming worm in my lap and shuddered. Perhaps the biological clock would start ticking sometime in the future, but for now I remained revolted by the notion of pregnancy—of a parasite living in my stomach and then crapping it out after nine months of hell. I was terrified by the very idea.

"Practicing, are we?" Draco sat down next to me, smiling down at the baby. Melanthe's daughter Menelaia clambered into his lap and smiled coquettishly up at him. Draco tickled her gently but didn't take his eyes of me. Melanthe got up with a vague excuse about finding Clymene. Stachys started to whimper and I tentatively tried joggling him a bit.

"Ari," Draco said. "Have you—I mean—there are potions that women take to--"

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I've got it covered."

"Oh," he said, sounding relieved. "Good. I'd be thrilled, surely, but it isn't really the most convenient time for a child."

"To put it mildly," I agreed dryly. "So you want children, do you?"

"Of course," Draco said, giving me a surprised look.

I felt my stomach sink. I hated the idea of disappointing him, but at the same time my entire being balked at the thought of having children of my own. It was all I could do not to drop Stachys on the spot and run away. Instead I did the next best thing and handed the baby to Draco who easily accommodated both children and made my escape to the dance floor. I didn't have to think about it right now. I wasn't in danger of getting pregnant and Draco wouldn't even consider it until after the war was over. Perhaps by then I'd have developed some maternal inclination.

After the feast, Draco and I retired to our rooms accompanied by Demetroula, who dismantled my hair. I insisted on doing the rest myself, however. The only person allowed to undress me beside myself was Draco. I slipped into a gauzy night shift and lay down on the bed, thinking about Draco's mysterious plans for tonight. His placement of his wand and a knife underneath his pillow did not go unnoticed. I pretended not to see, however. Clearly he thought I would go to sleep blissfully unaware that anything was amiss and if that made him feel better, I would let him think so.

Draco lay down with his back to me and muttered, "Good night."

I rolled my eyes. He was so transparent. His every movement practically screamed 'I Have a Sneaky Plan'. He was probably waiting for me to fall asleep so he could go about executing said sneaky plan. I tried to lie still to give him the illusion that I was happily and peacefully asleep, but I couldn't. I felt as if every shadow held a threat and every window had some unseen danger lurking underneath. Eventually I sat up.

"Ari? What's wrong?"

"I need to run," I said, clambering up from the bed and heading for the window.

"What? No, you can't do that," he said, pulling me back down.

"And why not?" I inquired testily.

"What if someone sees you? They'll just think you're a wolf."

"No one will see me," I said confidently.

"No," he said firmly.

"I'm sorry, did you think you had a choice in the matter?" I asked coolly. "I'm leaving."

"You will not," he growled.

"Just who do you think you are?" I demanded, jerking away.

"Your husband," he snapped. "And I say you're not going anywhere."

"Is that the best you can do?" I sneered, and turned to leave, but something stopped me.

It wasn't that I couldn't move—I could have if I really wanted to. It was more like a sudden loss of interest, a sort of enforced docility. I suddenly noticed that the ring on my left hand had become warmer than usual. I gave it an experimental tug and found that it wouldn't budge. The sudden docility fled as quickly as it came and I looked up at Draco, who wore a classic deer-in-the-headlights expression. I took a deep breath.

"Draco," I said, very calmly. "Explain."

"Later, Ari," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "This isn't the best time--"

"_Now_." The word shot out of my mouth like a whiplash.

Before he could answer, however, I sensed rather than saw a sudden movement behind me. Without looking, I seized the intruder with my magic and threw him against the opposite wall, pinning him there so he stuck to the wall like a squashed fly. He was dark(ish) and probably had some Greek in him, but he was blue-eyed and had a certain strangeness about him that spoke of an outlander heritage. Ah, so this was what Draco was preparing for.

A second later, men were bursting into the room. Kallias, Christo, and several of my newfound relatives formed a semicircle around the stranger with swords and knives drawn. Draco had a knife in one hand an his wand in the other, though I hadn't seen him move.

"Take him and get out," I ordered.

Kallias looked faintly surprised to be addressed in such a manner, but obeyed. They marched the man out at sword-point and Draco and I were once again alone. I crossed my arms and waited expectantly.

"It's a wizard's ring," Draco said tiredly, sitting down on the bed. "I told you it was binding."

"Binding isn't the word I would us in this situation," I said acidly. "An oath is binding. A legal document is binding. This is—this is bondage. You can just make me do whatever you please?"

"I can't make you do anything," he retorted. "The ring's magic just makes you more...open to suggestion. And I have to consciously invoke my right as your husband for the magic to work. It doesn't do it automatically."

"I see," I said coldly. "So what other 'rights' does this ring protect?"

"Magical marriage rings are very old," Draco explained. "Only very old families still use them. They were used originally in Medieval times to ensure pure bloodlines and make married life a little more—er, comfortable."

"For the man," I interjected. Draco nodded. "What do you mean, ensure pure bloodlines?"

"The ring binds the wife to her husband physically," Draco told me. "It makes adultery impossible. For the wife," he added. Seeing my look of outrage, he said impatiently, "I'm not saying it's fair. It's just how they work. Look, I would have told you about it before but we're already bound to each other. It seemed kind of redundant."

"Anything else?" I asked with an edge to my voice.

"It will let me find you, wherever you are. But there is one good thing about these rings," he said. "They were made to protect women from rape. I don't know how the oath we swore works, but that ring will prevent any man from touching you sexually. Except me," he added as an afterthought. Was that a smirk on his face?

"And you said that you had to consciously invoke your 'right' as my husband to order me about for the ring to make me biddable and obedient and 'open to suggestion'?" I asked.

Draco nodded. "Ari, I wouldn't have done it if it weren't absolutely necessary."

"Perhaps it wouldn't have been _necessary_ if you had seen fit to tell me what was going on," I suggested.

"I just didn't want you to worry," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"No," I said a little more gently. Then I picked him up with my magic and slammed him against the wall as I had the mysterious intruder. "But if you _ever _use magic to force me against my will again, I will leave you. There may be no one else for me, but I'm willing to make that choice. I will not live with a man who wants to control me."

"Never again," he promised.

"Swear it," I ordered.

Draco nodded. "On the Styx."

"Good."

I let Draco drop to the ground and crossed to the window. In moments I was outside and running for the hills on four legs. I ran hard and fast, as if I could outrun my fears if I pushed myself hard enough. I knew why Draco had done what he did, and could even understand it—to a point. I knew that leaving would have messed up his plan, but that was no excuse. He should have told me from the beginning.

It was sweet that he didn't want to worry me, I suppose, but come on. Did he think I was stupid? It was obvious that something was going on. As if I wouldn't notice. And then he had to go and use magic to get his way. No one had ever meddled with my mind before and it scared me badly. The sudden loss of control over my mind and body was terrifying. I could forgive him for using whatever means necessary to cope with a potentially disastrous situation, but that didn't mean I would let him get away with it.

No one—_no one—_could put me on a leash on me, husband or no.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

oh, dear, oh, dear--a lover's quarrel! What will they do? Actually, it's really not that exciting. See you next chapter

shai


	13. Creepy, Kooky, and Altogether Ooky

I returned the next morning just before dawn. I slipped silently among the colorful trees and bushes and hopped lightly through the window into our room. Draco was sitting on the bed, facing the door, but he turned around at my arrival. I changed and stood silently with my arms crossed, unsure of what to say or do. Draco stood and faced me with his hands at his sides. His face looked so hard and stern that I almost didn't recognize him.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked expressionlessly.

"A bit," I replied guardedly. "You?"

He shook his head. "Not a wink."

I didn't say anything. What could I say? I'm sorry? That would be a lie. Frankly, I thought he deserved it. On the other hand, I very much wanted to throw myself into his arms and pretend that everything was alright again.

"Ari, please," Draco said softly, his mask cracking a little bit. "Say something."

I shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know, either. I can think of something for _you_ to say," I added coldly.

Draco stiffened, as if to prepare himself for a blow to some sensitive spot. He took a deep breath with some difficulty owing to a tightly clenched jaw, balled his fists, and abruptly relaxed.

"I should have told you what I was planning. For that, I apologize," he said formally.

"But not for using magic to play with my head?" I asked, trying to decide whether to get angry again.

"I regret that it was necessary," Draco said stiffly. "I did what I had to do."

"I see," I said hollowly. I cleared my throat. "When do we leave?"

"Leave?"

"For Delos," I clarified.

"Ah. Christo and I leave at dawn," he said.

I froze. "You and Christo."

"Yes," he said, looking me in the eye. "The whole point of leaving your grandparents' house was to keep them—and you—safe. You would be safe here. These people are your family—and they're fighting men."

"Excuse me, have you forgotten last night?" I demanded. "In case you hadn't noticed, a complete stranger waltzed into our room intending—I don't know what he was going to do, but I feel reasonably confident that he wasn't on a social call."

"I'd say you handled him well enough," he said ruefully.

"High praise for a defenseless woman," I said sarcastically. "I haven't forgotten yesterday."

Draco looked confused and slightly wary. "Yesterday?"

"Yesterday you didn't want me 'wandering around by myself'. Because I'm a woman."

"Well, you've proved me wrong and then some," he said, and shrugged. "Look, you belong here. You know what to look for—what's dangerous, what's suspicious. And you have more power than anyone I've ever met. As much as it pains me as a man and your husband to admit it, you don't need me. You've made that abundantly clear."

He sounded surprisingly bitter. But he was right. Here in Greece, I was in my element. I _didn't_ need him. Not for safety, anyway. And if I was here, where I was virtually untouchable, it would allow Draco to operate freely on his own. Perhaps that was what he wanted—to be on his own.  
"If that's what you want," I said dully.

"You know very well what I want," he said sharply, coming around the bed to stand before me. "I just thought that you would be happier here than in Scotland."

"And not see you for months—years, maybe?" I replied incredulously. "Forget it. I'm going with you."

The mask finally crumbled away and he grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

I laughed, releasing the tension that had been building up all night, and walked forward to lean my forehead against his chest. He picked me up and carried me to the bed, where he toppled over, pinning me down with his weight.

"We have a few hours till dawn," he said in my ear. "I intend to use them suitably."

"Mmm," I murmured in agreement, and waited to be kissed.

When nothing was forthcoming, I looked up questioningly. Draco smiled and kissed me before rolling over so that our positions were reversed. Then he closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow. I snorted and rolled off of him. 'Suitably', indeed. I curled up with my head in the hollow of his shoulder and his arm came around me as if by reflex. In moments, we were both asleep.

And it seemed like only moments later we were awakened by Demetroula, bearing a breakfast tray and a basin of water for washing. I sat up and poked Draco, who groaned and rolled over. I prodded him again and he swatted my hand away.

"Leave me alone," he growled brusquely.

"Time and tide wait for no man," I said tartly, whipping the pillow out from under his head. "And neither does Kallias."

Draco glared at me, looking remarkably like an angry cat.

"You are an overbearing nag, do you know that?"

"You've mentioned it once or twice, yes," I replied, unperturbed.

I was far too used to his daily transformation into Mr. Hyde to be hurt or offended anymore. Jekyll would surface shortly after breakfast, no doubt. I took another look at those sparking silver eyes narrowed at me in surly malevolence and reconsidered. Maybe by noon. If I was lucky.

I thanked Demetroula and accepted the washcloths she handed me before beating a hasty retreat. As she made her escape, she cast an anxious look over her shoulder at the ominously rumbling lump on the bed. When she was gone, Draco rolled out of bed and wrapped his kilt-cloth around his lean hips and made a bee-line for the tray of food.

Less than two hours later, we were on the ship and headed back out to sea. I sighed and tried to console myself with the thought that it was only a few days. On the other hand, the longer the journey took, the longer I would be in Greece. Going back to the land of rain and Mary Poppins didn't please me overmuch. Yet on the other, imaginary, hand, it was almost May. Maybe the weather was better.

The next day, I sat chatting with Kallias as he steered the boat and learned that the intruder from the other night had had nothing to do with Bellum at all. He was after ransom. He knew only that I was related to the king and queen of Vouna and thought to kidnap me for money and for whatever other benefits I might provide—hence the evil eye on Draco. The _mati_ is cast by a intense envy. The would-be kidnapper was more jealous of Draco than greedy for me. Typical.

Despite some momentary indignation at this revelation, I was quite relieved. If he had been sent by Bellum, it would mean that Bellum knew Draco was still alive. And we didn't want that. Of course, it would probably come out sooner or later, but I profoundly hoped it would be much, _much_ later.

"Who exactly _is_ this...Mbeh-loom?" Kallias asked, doing his best with the English pronunciation. "What does he want with you?"

"Nothing good," I said grimly. "I don't know, exactly, and that scares me. It originally had to do with my—condition."

I didn't want to say curse, because it wasn't a curse for me. I loved it. I gloried in it. It was a gift from the gods. A blessing.

"How you turn into a wolf," Kallias said, seeking affirmation.

I nodded. "You see, I'm different. Usually, the bite is a terrible curse. Every full moon the person who is bitten turns into a raging, blood-thirsty monster. They lose all sense of humanity, all sense of self. That doesn't happen to me. I'm fully aware of who I am when I change and, what's more, I'm not limited to changing only at the full moon. I can change whenever I like and as much as I like." I demonstrated briefly, displaying sharp claws and small, sharp fangs. "Also, silver is lethal to normal werewolves. It doesn't affect me at all."

"So this man wanted you as a weapon to use against his enemies?" Kallias asked.

"Not quite," I said, shivering at the memory. "It wasn't even Bellum who's plan it was. It was a man named Sebastian Grey. Grey wanted to use me as breeding stock. Bellum was to be the stallion to my mare."

Kallias looked duly horrified. "And you will go back? That is absurd. Ariadne, stay. You are safe here."

I shook my head. "Draco must fight in England and I go with him—and who knows? Perhaps I can help somehow."

"You only came into your powers recently," Kallias argued. "Better to stay here, where it is safe, and learn to use them fully."

I shook my head again. "I'm not going to change my mind. I have to go with Draco."

We sat in silence for some time, contemplating the future.

"Kallias, you have traveled a great deal, right?" I asked presently.

"I have," Kallias replied.

"Outside of Greece?" He nodded curiously, waiting for me to continue. "Can you still work old magic outside of Greece?"

"_Vevaia_," he said heartily. "Your magic comes from within you. You carry it with you wherever you go."

"Oh, good," I said, relieved. "I just wondered—because I didn't come into my powers until I came to Greece."

"I think that was partly coincidence," Kallias said. "You said Mbehloom was threatening your husband's life when you discovered your magic, no? I think it was more likely the situation that triggered it rather than your location."

"That's comforting," I said. "I was afraid I would be left with just my chameleon tricks and pyromania once I left Greece."

"What?"

Again a demonstration was called for, which drew the attention of the crew. The next twenty minutes were spent experimenting with dozens of color combinations that the crew members shouted out. The nearly unanimous vote was that bright purple and magenta hair and painfully carroty orange eyes was the coolest combination. It was only nearly unanimous because Draco didn't appreciate thirty men staring at his wife and finally pointed out that there was plenty of work to do and staring at me wouldn't get any of it done. Very calmly, of course. Kallias reinforced that suggestion while hiding a smile and I reverted to my natural, beauteous glory.

"When you come back to Greece," Kallias said, "will you come to Vouna or go back to your grandparents to live?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I think I'm going to worry about getting back here in one piece first."

"Well, know that there will always be a place for you on Vouna, should you choose to live there," Kallias said.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

Soon I began to get restless and spent the remainder of the day as a hawk soaring high above the ship. That night, I told Draco what Kallias had told me about the Mysterious Intruder—though I guess he wasn't so mysterious anymore—and found that Draco was as relieved as I was. I guess having murderous dark wizards after us our first night in England wasn't his cup of tea, either. Haha. England, cup of tea...oh, forget it.

When we arrived at Delos, I thought at first that we had stopped at another "rest" island. There was no port, no docks, no _people_, even. Just a small cove where a ship could anchor. Kallias rowed us to shore and Draco, Christo, and I bid him farewell with a promise to visit if—_when—_we returned. Kallias agreed to act as a sort of scout for Christo and see if there were any likely recruits on whatever islands he ended up on.

Christo led us from the beach up into the hills, which seemed to be deserted except for a few goats. That watched us calmly while chewing mouthfuls of grass. A scruffy dog moved to place himself between us and the goats, staring at us warningly. Another took a good look at us and bounded away.

"Does anyone even live here?" Draco asked.

"Just the oracle and her priests," Christo replied. "It's not far—but first we must cleanse ourselves at the spring."

The spring was unadorned save for a small statue of Leto with the infant twins. We washed our hands and faces and continued up the path, which grew gradually wider until it formed a paved walkway lined with statues of Apollo in various aspects. The temple was simple, but impressive, a large, whitewashed building with smooth columns and carved walls. In front of the temple stood a priest in simple homespun robes. One of the dogs we had seen with the goats sat by his side, panting and thumping his tail happily.

"_Yeiasas kai chara sas,_" the priest greeted us, kissing each of us on the cheek. "What brings you to the home of Apollo?"

Christo stepped forward. "My cousin seeks guidance from the oracle, Holy One," he said humbly. "She goes to a distant land to aid her husband in the war."

The priest's eyes flicked to me and then to Draco.

"Come, then," he said, and led the way into the temple, where we were met by a priest wearing considerably more lavish clothing.

After a brief conference, we were allowed to approach the figure seated on a tripod over a pit and the first priest hurried away with the dog at his heels. I wrinkled my nose against the fumes of burning laurel rising from the pit. More priests in rich clothing stood around her, waiting to interpret her riddles.

"Ask your question," the priest said, stepping back.

I stepped forward and hesitated, unsure of what to ask. Yiayia had only said we needed to come to Delos. She hadn't told me what to ask. What did I want to know? Could she even tell me?

"What awaits us in England?" I asked finally. "Will we return or--"

"_Life in death awaits you, my child,_" the Sybil answered, startling me. "_Return that which was stolen and regain the key from the depths of mystery. Beware: the Rich One gives no charity. To strike a bargain you must have something to trade."_

And she fell silent. I exchanged a startled, worried glance with Christo. Draco was frowning. I could tell he hadn't quite caught all of what she said. It didn't really make a difference. I understood her words but not the meaning behind them. The priests gathered together, speaking in hushed tones while we waited anxiously. Finally, the cluster broke and one of them approached us, bowing deeply to me.

"We are honored at your presence, Daughter of Apollo," he said. "Forgive us our lack of courtesy; we did not know."

"Not at all," I said graciously to cover my confusion. "I ask only your guidance, Holy One."

He nodded, suddenly businesslike. "We have conferred and it appears that you will have a close brush with death in an attempt to bargain with a rich lord for something dear to you."

"A close brush with death," Christo interjected, looking concerned. "Will she survive it?"

"We must make a sacrifice and read the entrails to determine that," the priest answered politely.

"No need for that," I said hastily, not because I was squeamish but because I was afraid the smell of a fresh kill might be too much for the wolf inside. "We really must be going."

We exited the temple after leaving an offering in the form of all the gold coins we had left. I thought it was a huge ripoff after hearing the priests' interpretation. Please. Anyone could have come up with that. I had a feeling there was much more to what the Sybil had said. She is supposed to be the mouthpiece for the god. If all Apollo wanted to tell me was that I had to bargain my way out of death, he could have told me that himself.

Soon we were back on the beach, looking at each other and shuffling about awkwardly. I looked around, wondering suddenly how we were going to get back to England. Now that we actually had to go, I wanted to get there as soon as possible.

"How are we getting to England?" I asked.

Draco shrugged. "We'll Apparate."

"Oh. Why didn't we just Apparate here?" I asked. "Or to Vouna, for that matter?"

"Because you have to know where you're going to Apparate," Christo explained.

"But we Apparated to Mount Pelion from London," I said, looking at Draco for an explanation.

"You did?" Christo exclaimed, looking aghast at the notion. "How?"

"Yes, we did, but that's not an experience I ever want to repeat," Draco replied, looking sick at the memory. "It was extremely risky. I used Leglimency to extract an image from Ari's mind."

"Are you insane?" Christo exploded. "You could have Splinched yourselves, or worse."

"Staying would have meant death," Draco snapped. "Or worse. Don't question me, boy. I don't take unnecessary risks, least of all with Ari."

Christo subsided into silence but continued to glower at Draco as he kissed my cheek.

"Take care of yourself, Kahti," he said.

"I'll miss you," I replied, hugging him tightly.

"You might see me sooner than you think," he told me, winking mysteriously.

I rolled my eyes. They really did think I was completely oblivious, didn't they? I watched with no little amusement as Draco and Christo stood facing each other in awkward silence. I was reminded strongly of the scene in Grease where Kinicky asks Danny to be his second. This image was reinforced when they suddenly grinned and shared a manly embrace, thumping each other on the back.

I snorted in a decidedly undignified fashion and smiled. Draco had come such a long way from the cool, suave sophisticate I had first met. Then again, such an image was difficult to maintain on a ship full of rowdy, rambunctious Greeks. Or in my grandmother's household, for that matter.

Christo Apparated away—Disapparated, I think the correct term is—leaving me and Draco alone on the deserted beach. With a sigh, I pulled our clothes out from the bag and handed Draco his trousers and shirt—and boxers. (I had been relieved to find out that wizards—or at least Draco—did, in fact, wear underwear. And not tighty-whities.) Draco took them with the same expression of distaste he had worn when he first donned his kilt-cloth. It made me smile slightly. My own skirt and blouse wasn't such a drastic transition.

It was a shock to see Draco wearing "normal" clothes for the first time in almost two weeks. Hell, it was a shock to see him wearing that much clothing at all. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. I exchanged my lace-up sandals for a pair of flip flops and waited for Draco to finish tying his shoes. When he straightened up, he looked at me seriously.

"Ari," he said. "I need you to promise me something. I swore I wouldn't use magic to force you against your will, but where we're going I might not always have time to explain things. I need you to promise to do as I tell you and to not waste time asking questions. If I tell you to do something, I guarantee there's a reason for it. You just have to trust me."

"Alright," I said after a moment. "I trust you."

"Promise."

"I promise."

Draco held a hand out to me and I took it, standing close by his side. We took a last look around and then we were gone with that squeezing feeling. It wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as the last time, presumably because Draco knew where he was going this time.

"Wow," I said, taking in the spectacle before us. "Are you sure your last name isn't Adams?"

"What?"

"Nevermind," I muttered. "So. This is home sweet home, is it?"

"This is Malfoy Manor," Draco said. "Home, I suppose."

Which implied that, while home, it was not sweet. Still holding my hand, he pushed the gate and it swung open soundlessly. I shivered: it would have been less creepy if it had squeaked a little. Even in broad daylight, the Manor looked dark and spooky. I was glad Draco didn't seem overly fond of the place. Living here was most definitely not an option.

"If anyone but a Malfoy tried to open that gate his hand would shrivel up," Draco told me as we walked through the gate.

"Does that include me or was that a warning?" I asked uncertainly.

"Of course you count," he said. "You're a Malfoy now, aren't you?"

"I guess I am," I said, sort of surprised. I hadn't thought of that before. "Ariadne Malfoy. I like it."

Draco smiled briefly. "Good."

We hurried across the lawn and Draco led me through through a maze of sinister looking shrubbery that surrounded the house. Sinister shrubbery may sound sort of silly, but I assure you that these bushes looked positively evil. Draco noticed me looking at them worriedly and told me that they were Chokevines, meant to strangle intruders.

"Charming," I murmured, and pressed closer to him.

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or nervous when we finally made it to the house. Once again Draco merely pushed open the door and we walked in. There was a sudden cracking sound that had me on all fours and snarling in a split second. Once I saw the cause for the sound, I changed back and stared in surprise.

"Cinders? What are you doing here?"

"Master Draco is offering me a position here after Master Sebastian kicked the bucket," she said, beaming up at me.

"When I came back a few weeks ago," Draco explained. "This place has been empty for more than five years; it needed to get cleaned up. I also took the liberty of bringing your belongings from Greenwood. As well as a few choice items of Mr. Grey's that might prove useful."

"How?" I asked. "After seeing this—I can't believe Grey's manor was less protected."

"I constructed those wards," Draco said smugly. "That was my job, remember? The only people who knew how to get by them were Sebastian and myself. Anyone else had to be let in by one of us."

"And now that Sebastian is dead, you're the only one who can get in," I said. "Nice."

"It is rather comforting to know," Draco agreed. "Cinders, could you send dinner up to my room? You know which one it is?"

The little elf nodded happily and disappeared with another loud cracking noise. Draco led me through the dark, eerily silent house and I found it difficult not to cringe from the portraits of sneering men and women. One was particularly cruel-looking, but he bore such a strong resemblance to Draco that I had to stop.

The man in the painting looked to be about thirty, with pale blond hair that looked like it might be going white at the temples. Or maybe he just had really pale hair; it was hard to tell. I looked at Draco and then at the picture again. Draco's face, when he wasn't smiling, was every bit as hard and stern as the painting's. But I had never seen him wear that particular expression of utter cruelty. The man in the painting had been a sadistic son of a bitch, I was sure of it.

"What are you staring at, you insolent bitch?" the man hissed. "You are not fit to wear that ring. You are not worthy of the Malfoy name. The Dark Lord will rid the world of your kind, you filthy Mudlbood."

"My father," Draco said expressionlessly. "Let's go."

I was shocked. Was this what Draco had grown up with? I stole a glance at Draco but his face was hard and cold. I shivered as he pulled me through the corridors and didn't look at any more pictures. When we finally got to his room, I collapsed on the bed and curled up. This place was dark and cold and frightening and oppressive. I wanted to leave.

"Draco—do we have to stay here?"

"Just for tonight," he said, stroking my hair briefly. He smiled a little, though it looked strained. "I thought you might like to take a bath."

I gasped. "Oooh, yes. Unless the water is actually acid or something. I wouldn't put it past this place."

"No, I disabled that feature when I came back before," he said seriously, holding the bathroom door open for me.

I looked at him sharply, but he wasn't kidding. I scurried nervously into the bathroom and hesitated, looking around me. Jesus Christ, even the bathrooms were creepy. Everything was black and silver and oddly sinuous. Especially the shower head. It gave the disturbing impression that there were dozens of snakes watching me. I poked my head out the door.

"Um, Draco? Why don't you join me? You know, just to make sure nothing eats me."

I looked at him hopefully and he made a show of considering.

"And what, exactly, is in it for me?"

"Did you have something in mind?" I asked innocently.

"Well, dinner won't be ready for at least another half-hour..."

"Well, then, I'm sure we can think of something."

Despite our steamy bathtub encounter, I didn't sleep well that night and moved around even more than usual. So much so, in fact, that I fell off the bed, scaring myself out of sleep and into my wolf form. After that I opted to just stay as a wolf and sleep curled up beside Draco, who complained mightily but eventually gave in because he woke up every time I woke up. We were both jittery and cranky the next morning and very nearly killed each other over breakfast, but we got out of the house and off the grounds in one piece.

There were anti-Apparition wards surrounding Malfoy Manor, so we had to get outside the gates before we could leave. (He explained this much later, after Mr. Hyde went to sleep). We appeared in another forest, but this one seemed, well, friendlier.

"Where are we?" I asked, looking around.

"Scotland," he replied, yawning. "In the woods near a village called Hogsmeade. We'll rest here before going to the school. If I ask them for help now I might just end up hexing them into oblivion and then where would you be?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea," I said heartily.

"This way," he said, turning abruptly. "There's a cave nearby."

The cave was dark and somewhat damp, but it was fairly large and didn't seem infested with rats or bats or other small, nasty creatures. Draco waved his wand and a mattress, two pillows, and a blanket appeared. I looked at Draco in wonderment. He smiled smugly.

"Hah. 'Flashy and useless' my arse," he said in tones of great satisfaction, and flopped down on the mattress.

I lay down beside him and he pulled me roughly to his side.

"Remember that conversation we had about you obeying me?" he asked gruffly, and I nodded. "Well, I expressly forbid you to change into a wolf while you're on this mattress."

I smiled tiredly and laid my head down beside his. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. When I woke, it was past noon and Draco was already up, pacing nervously. I sat up, eyelids still heavy from sleep, and stared at Draco. Not only was he up before me, he was pacing. Nervously. He was nervous.

"Let's go," he said, seeing that I was up. "Are you hungry?"

I shook my head.

"Good," he said shortly. "Let's go."

I followed him meekly through the forest, waiting for Jekyll to make an appearance. I could tell he was nervous and that in turn made me downright scared. What if these people refused to take me in. Or what if they did? Would Draco just leave? Would they let him visit? I had come here so that I wouldn't be separated from him completely. But what if they didn't let me see him? Then I'd be separated from him _and_ I'd be in a strange place with strange people in a land far from home.

Either Hyde was releasing his hold on Draco or Draco saw my mounting distress because he took my hand and squeezed it comfortingly. He continued to hold it as we walked on, and I was grateful for it. When we came within sight of the village, I slowed.

"Draco, will people recognize you?"

"I doubt it," Draco said with a shrug, and tugged on my hand. "I haven't been here in six years. And I looked—different—then."

"So we just waltz in there and start talking?" I asked dubiously.

"That's about it," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Or, at least, we stride in confidently and _I_ start talking. Once we find the correct person to talk _to_."

I'd say I made a fair approximation of confident—yet feminine—striding as we walked approached the gates to an enormous castle. Not that it did us any good, really. Before we even made it to the gates, a man and a woman wearing black robes stepped through them and hurried toward us, wands raised.

"Name and business, please," the woman said briskly.

She had uncontrollable curly brown hair and glasses, but was reasonably pretty in a soft, girly sort of way. I resisted the urge to pat my own hair. While I had loose, well behaved curls, she had the wild corkscrew curls that had a tendency to frizz. Hard to deal with, I suppose, but it suited her. The color went well with her skin. She had nice skin, I had to give her that; milky rather than pale.

The man beside her _was_ pale and thin and wiry almost to the point of scrawniness. Despite his slight build, he had a certain elastic, springy look about him that spoke of tightly corded muscle. His face was partially obscured by messy black hair but I could see bright, emerald green eyes glaring out from behind his glasses.

"Name and business," the man barked.

"You don't remember me, Potter?" Draco drawled. "I'm crushed."

"Malfoy," Potter snarled immediately. "What in God's name are _you_ doing here?"

"I've come to negotiate," Draco said, dropping the drawl. He set down his wand and backed away. "There. No funny business."

Without warning, ropes shot out of the end of Potter's wand and wrapped themselves tightly around Draco. I was on Potter in a flash and had his throat in my jaws before anyone had time to react. He had the sense to stay very, very still. I growled low in my throat to reiterate the fact that if he so much as burped his throat would be torn open like a Christmas present.

"If you don't untie me I think there's a good chance she'll rip his throat out," Draco said conversationally. "And we all know what a tragedy that would be."

The woman moved slowly to pick up Potter's wand. I glared at her, lips drawn back in a snarl. I would do it if I had to. Clearly she realized this because the ropes around Draco disappeared. I released Potter and backed away to Draco's side, where I sat tensely, ready to move at the least provocation.

"Give me my wand, Hermione," Potter said, holding his hand out.

"No," the woman named Hermione said, giving him a Look.

After a brief staring contest, Potter subsided, muttering, "Fine. But keep your bitch on a leash, Malfoy."

Draco took two steps and punched Potter in the face, knocking him to the ground. I could tell he was holding back. We needed these people, after all.

"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head while speaking of my wife," he said coolly.

"Your wife," Potter sputtered, wiping blood from a cut lip.

I decided this was a good time to change back. I didn't trust myself not to take a chunk out of his leg. Or somewhere higher up. I smiled and nodded to each of them.

"How do you do?" I said politely.

They both looked stunned, but recovered quickly. Hermione looked from me to Draco.

"I take it this is the reason for your desire to negotiate," she said shrewdly.

"Yes, how clever of you to catch on so quickly," Draco said nastily, unable to help himself. I shot him a look and he calmed down. "I've come to offer my services in exchange for shelter for my wife."

"The services of a Death Eater?" Potter said incredulously. "If you think we want that, you're a bigger prat than I thought. I didn't think that was possible."

"Not a Death Eater," Draco said, and rolled up his sleeve, exposing the large, ugly scar on his forearm. "Not quite as glamorous as yours, perhaps, but impressive, wouldn't you say, Potter?"

"That's impossible," Hermione said flatly. "Even if you carved it out, you should have died."

"Oh, if only I had a galleon for every time someone has said that to me," Draco remarked. "I'd be even richer than I already am."

"It must be a charm," Potter said. "To cover up the Mark."

"Care to inspect it, Granger?" Draco offered, holding out his arm.

"Yes, thanks," she said, and proceeded to poke and prod his arm with her wand until she was satisfied the scar was real. "I don't know how you survived, Malfoy, but it must have been an experience."

"You could call it that," Draco said sardonically. "It's thanks to my wife that I did survive, so you can see why I would go to...extreme measures...to ensure her safety."

"Well, you'll have to look elsewhere, Malfoy," Potter said. "We don't want your services and we don't want your wife."

"I have information," Draco said calmly. "I know the names of Death Eater spies in the Ministry. I know the locations of five Death Eater hideouts in London. I have access to Sebastian Grey's manor—and consequently his library. I know how to get into nearly every Death Eater mansion undetected. I know what they were planning. And I know where one of the Horcruxes is."

"How did you know about the Horcruxes?" Potter asked, face going blank and slack with shock.

Draco smirked. "I didn't, until just now. Not for sure, anyway."

Potter and Granger exchanged another look. "Alright, we'll speak to the other Order Members. But they'll probably want an Unbreakable Oath—if they agree at all."

"I've been swearing quite a lot of those lately," Draco muttered. "I'll have my wand back, if you don't mind."

"Don't give it to him, Hermione," Potter muttered, "he can't be trusted."

I felt anger rise up in my chest like a cloud. Who was he to point fingers? Draco had given them his wand as a truce and Potter had broken the truce. That stupid, self-righteous little twit. Draco was offering himself on a silver platter and this brat was turning his nose up at him like a spoiled two year old.

"They don't know about them, do they?" Draco suddenly. "The Horcruxes. It's just the three of you. Speaking of which, where's the Weasel?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business," Granger said crisply. "And neither are the Horcruxes."

"Oh, alright," Draco said offhandedly. "I just thought you might like it now. But if if you're not interested--"

"You _have_ the Horcrux?" Potter said.

"Well, Ari does," Draco said. He smirked. "Would you like it, Potter?"

Potter glared at him furiously.

"Yes," he ground out. "What do you want?"

"Your word that you'll secure protection for my wife," Draco said. "'I'll do my best' isn't quite good enough for me. Especially coming from you."

"How do we know it's really a Horcrux?" Granger asked. "For that matter, how do _you_?"

"It's a golden bracelet that very likely belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw," Draco told them. "And it positively radiates dark magic, yet it doesn't seem to have a specific purpose."

"And the building I found it in used to be an orphanage," I added. "I don't know what that means, but the person who led me to it said that I should mention it."

Potter and Granger exchanged another glance.

"Who led you to it?" Potter asked.

I shook my head. "I don't know. It was under...rather unusual circumstances."

"Let's see it," Potter demanded.

"Your word first, Potter," Draco said grimly.

"Alright, fine," Potter said crossly. "I promise."

"I'll need my wand back," he said, and Granger grudgingly handed it over.

Draco nodded to me and I took off my necklace. Draco took it and turned it back into a suitcase before rummaging around until he found the bracelet. He extended it to Potter, who fairly snatched it away. Any minute I expected him to start stroking it and mutter, "Yesss, preciousss."

"This is it, Hermione," he said excitedly. "The last one."

"Give me your wand," Granger said to Draco. "And I'll have your wife's, too, if you please."

"She doesn't have one," Draco said. "She's not a witch."

"Bollocks," Potter snorted. "How can she be an Animagus and not a witch?"

I was getting tired of being referred to in the third person, but wasn't sure how much I should say. With effort, I kept my mouth shut and let Draco do the talking.

"She's not an Animagus," he said coolly. "How like you to jump to conclusions, Potter. My wife is a werewolf."

"It's broad daylight," Granger pointed out. "And nowhere near the full moon."

"She's a very special werewolf," Draco explained, as if to small children. "And there are a lot of Death Eaters who would like to get their hands on her. Hence the need for protection."

"What do you mean, 'special'?" Potter asked.

"I can change whenever I want, as much as I want, silver doesn't affect me at all, and I retain self-awareness when I change," I said for myself. "And my senses remain enhanced even in human form."

"Hermione," Potter said slowly. "She's the weapon. The 'terrible weapon' we were looking for in London. It was her." Obviously something suddenly clicked, for he whirled around to glare at me. "You bit Ron! He's a werewolf now because of you! And an abnormal one, at that."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. A regular genius, we had here.

"If I recall correctly," I said icily, "_you_ were breaking and entering, intending to kidnap me or kill me or God knows what else."

"Well, it wasn't like we _knew_," Potter retorted hotly.

"Then what were you doing there in the first place?" I demanded. "You were just going to waltz in on god-knows-what and hope for the best? Was that your plan?"

Potter glared at me but didn't answer. Instead, he said, "I still don't believe you're not a witch. Give me your wand."

"I don't have one," I said with exaggerated patience.

"_Accio_!" Potter snapped, and the picture of my mother and her sister that I kept in my breast pocket flew to his hand before I could react. He looked at it and froze. Granger looked over his shoulder and gasped.

"Oh, my," she said softly. She looked up and studied me intently. Especially my eyes. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"Might I ask your maiden name?"

I blinked. "Metaxas."

"Is that Greek?"

"Yes," I said, not sure where this was going. "My mother was English, though."

"I see," she said. "Would you mind terribly if I asked her maiden name?"

"Not at all," I replied, though still confused. "It was Evans. Her name was Rothoula—sorry, Rose—Evans."

All three of them were now staring at me, wearing expressions of shock (Potter and Granger) and horror (Draco). I was merely confused. What did my mother have to do with anything? I looked at Draco, who looked like he suspected something and was wishing desperately for it not to be true. I resisted the urge to ask if it was something I said. Quite obviously, it was.

"That doesn't prove anything," Potter said finally. "There could be any number of Evanses in England."

"Would someone mind telling me what is going on?" I asked testily.

"That's my mum," Potter declared.

"What are you talking about?" I snapped. "That's _my_ mother." I hurried over and snatched it away from him. "Look, I have her eyes and her nose and her smile--"

"No, not her," Potter interrupted rudely. "The other one. That's my mum. Her name was--"

"Krini," I said, stomach dropping down to my feet. "Lily. My grandmother said she laughed because Rose was fair and Lily was a redhead."

"Krini?" Granger asked. Apparently she had recovered enough to be curious.

"It means 'lily' in Greek," I explained absently.

"This is impossible," Potter said. "You look nothing like me."

"I'm Greek," I said primly. "I take after my father."

"So does Harry," Granger said. "But you both have your mothers' eyes. And the build is sort of similar."

I studied Potter critically and grudgingly had to agree. We had the same light, bird-like bone structure. But where it made me look slender and feminine despite my muscle, it made him look skinny and underfed. Or just small. He looked like he really was underfed. He shook a clump of black hair out of his eyes and revealed a thin scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead. Ew. All in all, he was not someone I would readily admit as a relation.

"Well, there you go," Draco said, though he looked nauseous. "You have to take her in; she's family."

"Family doesn't mean a god-damned thing," Potter growled.

"Dumbledore thought it did, Harry," Granger said quietly.

Potter glared at her but didn't argue. Instead he muttered, "I gave my word, didn't I? "

"Yes, you did. Your wand, Malfoy," Granger said, holding a hand out.

Draco shrunk my suitcase and stuck it in his pocket before handing his wand over. I walked beside Draco as we followed Potter and Granger through the huge gates, up a large hill, across a huge lawn, through a set of humongous doors, up several flights of stairs, around an indecent amount of corners, and down more corridors than I cared to count. We eventually ended up in front of a door with a statue of a gargoyle in front of it. I wondered how anyone got in; it looked pretty heavy.

Potter turned to the gargoyle and opened his mouth, then turned and glared at us."Do you mind?"

"Mind what, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Would you like us to go back down the corridor? Stick our fingers in our ears? Sing Happy Birthday?"

Potter glared even more fiercely—I must admit, he did have a pretty impressive glare—and bent to whisper in the gargoyle's ear. It was soft; too soft for anyone to hear. Except me, of course. Clearly he had missed the 'enhanced senses' bit. The password, apparently, was 'Tchaikovsky'. Huh. McGonagall, whoever he—or she—was, had good taste.

The gargoyle suddenly leaped aside, nearly scaring me out of my human skin, and revealed a spiral staircase. Potter led the way and Granger followed. Draco motioned for me to go next so that he brought up the rear. Potter knocked on the door at the top of the staircase and waited until an old, female voice called out for us to enter.

McGonagall was an old but severe woman who looked like she had seen a lot of life. She turned a stern eye on me and I barely resisted the urge to squirm. This must be the Headmistress, I decided. I wondered if she had a rod or a cane hidden away somewhere that she used on recalcitrant students. Or perhaps a riding crop. Or a whip. Or--

"Mr. Malfoy," she said calmly. "It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has," Draco said guardedly.

"What brings you back to Hogwarts?"

"I've come to offer service and information to the Order of the Phoenix in exchange for shelter and protection for my wife here at Hogwarts," Draco replied. He bared his forearm so she could see the scar. "I have as much reason to fight them as any of you, now."

"It's genuine," Granger put in. "I checked it for every possible charm or spell he could have put on it. It's really gone."

"What prompted you to do such a thing, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked.

Draco was silent for a moment. I could tell he hadn't planned on being asked a question like that.

"My mother died," he said flatly. "They could no longer hold her life over my head. That—thing—was all that was standing between me and freedom. So I cut it off."

McGonagall nodded, face cool and impassive. She'd make a great poker player, I found myself thinking.

"What can you offer the Order?" was McGonagall's next question.

Draco repeated what he had told Potter and Granger, minus the Whore-crotch whatevers. Whatever they were. The rest of the conversation was basically a repeat of the scene outside, including my unusual abilities and my apparent relation to Potter. I felt a huge rush of mingled relief and apprehension when McGonagall announced that she would allow me to stay in exchange for Draco's information. Draco would then present himself at an Order meeting that night and they would decide whether to accept him or not.

"One last thing," McGonagall said, holding a hand up as we rose to leave. "Mrs. Malfoy, I understand that you were raised a Muggle."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"Our Muggle Studies professor recently decided he would feel much safer in Tibet," she said without a hint of humor. "Consequently, we find ourselves without a professor. Professors Potter and Granger have been doing their best to cover the classes, but they have their own classes to teach and none of the other Professors have substantial experience with Muggles. I would be very much obliged if you would take over the class. To pay the rent, if you will."

"Oh," I said, stomach knotting up. "It's very kind of you to take me in. Of course I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Good. You will begin on Monday," McGonagall said briskly. "Miss Granger will show you and Mr. Malfoy to your rooms. Tomorrow she will show you around the castle tomorrow and give you a synopsis of the class's progress. You will then have three days to begin lesson plans."

"Thank you," I said dazedly. "I—I look forward to it."

McGonagall smiled for the first time. "The first week is the worst. Welcome to Hogwarts, dear."

Granger led us through more twisty passageways to the rooms Draco and I were to share. She gave Draco his wand back and left without a word. I collapsed on the couch and put my head between my knees. Draco sat down beside me and laid a comforting hand on my back.

"Draco," I said. "How the hell am I going to do this?"

"With a very large ruler?" Draco suggested.

I gave him a look that said quite clearly, Not Helpful.

"You'll do fine," he assured me. "Muggle Studies is a joke. No one expects to actually learn anything."

"That's comforting."

"It's true," he insisted. "Most people only take it for easy credits."

"Unng," I moaned, rubbing my temples. "I'm hungry."

"Dinner is served at six," he said. "They'll send us up something."

McGonagall had asked us not to leave the room until Draco's fate could be decided. I wondered what would happen to me if he was rejected, since I had already accepted the teaching job. Ugh. Teaching. Teaching _children_.

"There's always the bathtub," Draco suggested, seeing my apparent despair. "Hogwarts bathtubs are always impressive. Especially when it comes to bubble-baths. Go see for yourself. I'm going to take a nap."

I took his advice and inspected the bathroom. Finding it more than satisfactory, I hurried back to the bookshelf I'd spotted—which somehow was filled with all my favorite books and others that I hadn't read but would probably enjoy—and picked out three that would last me until dinner.

"Try not to drown," Draco called after me as I disappeared into the bathroom.

The bathtub was indeed impressive. Not only was it the size of a kiddie pool, it had no less than ten faucets—not including the shower head, which was twice the size of the one at Greenwood. A few minutes of experimentation revealed that two of the faucets were for water (hot and cold), four were for different kinds of bubbles, two were for soap, and two were for shampoo and conditioner. It was awesome.

I filled the bath with hot water and all four kinds of bubbles and settled down with _Frozen Queen_, the sequel to the novel Draco had given me for Christmas which I had found on the magic bookshelf. It felt wonderful. More than wonderful. But for some reason, I couldn't pay attention to the book and I couldn't relax. Perhaps it was the shock of being in a new place and the apprehension I felt about Draco's meeting that night, but I felt exposed and vulnerable and...empty. As if I were missing something.

It was like...well, you know how sometimes you're walking to class and you feel like you've left something behind but you can't figure out what it is? It was like that, only worse. Like whatever I'd left behind was extremely, extremely important. Like a term paper that's worth half your final grade or something.

After I read the same sentence five times without taking a word of it in, I decided it was pointless and took a long shower. Afterward, I shrugged into a fluffy bathrobe and went back into the bedroom, where Draco was sprawled diagonally across the bed with his shirt and shoes off. I curled up next to him, hoping his proximity would lend me a little bit of comfort and security. Draco's arm came around me and he opened his eyes, blinking sleepily.

"You're dripping on me," he commented, lifting a damp strand of hair of his chest.

"Oh. Sorry," I muttered. "Draco, what will happen at this meeting you're going to?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," he said. He didn't seemed to worried about it.

"Will you come back?"

Draco opened his mouth, then shut it. "Yes. But I don't know when."

I didn't say anything but buried my face in his shoulder so he wouldn't see my eyes. My traitorous, tell-tale eyes that would tell him I was afraid. It wasn't that I couldn't live without him for a few days. When we lived with Sebastian Grey, he would often be gone for days at a time. I didn't mind being on my own. But here I was completely and utterly alone. Here, I was the wife of a former enemy—someone to be tolerated, but not to be trusted. And what if they rejected Draco? Would I then be kept prisoner, or would we simply leave?

"Ari," he said gently. "Don't worry. Everything will be fine."

I looked up and he kissed me with an uncharacteristic tenderness, which comforted me physically but did not set my mind at ease at all. Draco was not tender. He was assertive, firm, protective, possessive and high handed on occasion...he could be gentle, yes, and playful and fun, but never tender. I had always appreciated it; tender, sappy mushiness made both of us uncomfortable.

Now, it didn't make me uncomfortable. It made me worry. The way he cradled my head in his hands, the way he studied every inch of my face as if to memorize the smallest detail—it was as if he were saying goodbye. I looked into his eyes and realized he didn't want to leave me here anymore than I wanted him to leave. I realized he was afraid, and that in turn frightened me.

"You're not allowed to be afraid," I whispered fiercely. "If you're afraid, that means there's something to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid," he murmured against my mouth.

"Then I'm not afraid, either."

awwww, poor Ari. Reviews, people!

shai


	14. Too Young, Too Beautiful to Die

In which we see that Ari DOES in fact have a character flaw. If you think it's a little disturbing, sorry.

Potter and Granger came for Draco after dinner, leaving me alone in the strange room. I retreated back to the bathtub armed with more books and battled my way through _Ice Queen_. I couldn't relax, but what else could I do? I wasn't allowed to leave the room yet. I eventually got tired enough to go to sleep, but it was more of a fitful doze. I woke up at dawn the next morning feeling tired and jittery at the same time. I was almost happy to see Granger when she came at seven thirty.

"Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy," she said briskly. "May I come in?"

I stepped aside to let her in and motioned to the sofa. I sat opposite her and nearly swallowed my tongue when a tray of various breakfast foods suddenly appeared on the table. I concealed my reaction and waited patiently for her to make the first move. I wanted desperately to know what had happened at the meeting last night and where Draco was, but I didn't want her to see how. . .well, desperate. . .I really was.

"The Order has accepted his help," Granger told me. "He will not be initiated into the Order—but then, he didn't express an interest in joining. They've sent him on a mission with a few other Order members. He will likely be gone for at least a week."

My heart sank but I nodded and waited for her to go on. People like her always had more to say.

"You should eat something," she urged me. "It's not poison. Anyway, today I will show you around and introduce you to the rest of the staff after I get you up to date with the class. Oh—before we get started, you should know that I will introduce you as Professor Malcolm. Your husband indicated that he has used that pseudonym before. David Malcolm, if I'm not mistaken. Is that right?" I nodded. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I've forgotten your Christian name."

"Ariadne," I said. "But I've gone by Alexandra—I can remember that."

"Alexandra Malcolm," Granger said, nodding. "That will work. Now. Harry and I have been teaching the Muggle Studies course together. I've been teaching them Muggle history, mathematics, literature, the rudiments of science—you know, so they can understand electricity and planes and such—and Harry has been teaching them about Muggle culture. I believe he's explained about television, movie theaters, what little he knows about popular music—that sort of thing. The class meets on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. The goal of the course is to teach students how to function in the Muggle world without drawing attention to themselves. I've found that..."

And so on. I listened carefully to what Granger had to say. It gave me an idea of what I could teach and how I could teach it. While bossy and somewhat patronizing, she did strike me as a very competent, intelligent person. She was probably a very good teacher.

When she finished, I shadowed her for the day, sitting in on her classes—I was right, she was a very good teacher—and meeting other teachers. I had the shock of my life when I came face to face with Gabrielle, though I hid it quickly. She saw the slight shake of my head and had the sense to keep quiet, especially when Granger introduced me as Professor Alexandra Malcolm. I don't believe I ever told Gabrielle my last name, but she knew my first name wasn't Alexandra.

Granger showed me around the castle during her free periods and explained to me about the four Houses, House points, the Prefect system, and other tidbits about the school. She was polite and professional, and didn't once call me by my name—either name. She called me Mrs. Malcolm.

That evening, Professor McGonagall formally introduced me to the student body and the rest of the staff. I didn't know if the other teachers knew who I really was, but they too called me Professor Malcolm or Mrs. Malcolm. One—the Potions professor, I think—by the name of Slughorn made a very clumsy attempt at hitting on me. It was really gross. _He_ was really gross. But, beyond that, dinner was a surprisingly painless affair.

I spent the next few days sitting in on Granger's Muggle Studies class and attempting to write up lesson plans. I unpacked for both myself and Draco and went running every chance I got. I didn't sleep well at night, and still felt like I was missing something important. Consequently, I was in something of a dither on the morning of my first class, especially because I didn't have any of the black robes that I had seen all the other teachers wear. Did I not count as a real teacher yet or something?

I was trying to decide what to wear when someone knocked on the door. I hastily pulled a bathrobe over my pajamas and opened the door on Miss Granger. She held out a pile of folded black material.

"Here are your teaching robes," she said. "They cover pretty much everything, but Professor McGonagall likes us to be presentable underneath as well."

"Thank you," I said, taking the robes.

"Oh, I have these for you, too," Granger said, digging in her pocket. She held out a pair of glasses to me. "They're just plastic. I just thought they'd make you look...well, more like a teacher. When I started teaching I found that students gave me more trouble when I wore contacts."

"That's a good idea," I said, putting the glasses on. "How do I look?"

"Very scholarly," Granger said, giving me a real smile for the first time. "I think the overall effect will be better with teaching robes rather than a bathrobe, though. Do you need anything else? I could come just for the first class if you like. In case they start acting up."

"No, I think I'll be fine," I said. "Thank you, though."

"Alright, then," she replied. "Good luck."

"Thanks," I said, and closed the door.

I put the robes on over a black skirt and a button-down white shirt. With my hair pulled back in a tight bun and my new glasses on, I thought I looked presentable. I didn't look like a student, at least, and that was what I was aiming for. I grabbed the bag I had packed with my lesson plans and notes and headed out the door. When I got the classroom, I took a deep breath and entered.

I set my bag on the desk and observed the faces in front of me. There were about fifteen boys and girls of ages ranging from thirteen to eighteen. Luckily, there were only three or so that were my age. I looked around, seeing expressions of admiration and awe (from the boys) and evil glares (from the girls). But in every face I saw a hint of speculation, as if they were all wondering how long I would last and how much they could get away with.

"My name, as you probably all know by now, is Professor Malcolm," I said. "Yes, I am American, and, no, I am not a witch. I can, however, move things without touching them and set things on fire. So if you were planning on reading magazines or passing notes in my class--" A note that was being passed between two fifth-year girls abruptly burst into flame. "Think again. I will not tolerate rudeness, immaturity, or disrespect. If you act like adults, I will treat you like adults. Understood?" The class murmured affirmatively. "Now, one important aspect of Muggle life that I think has been ignored is Muggle pastimes. Granted, a lot of Muggles don't do anything beside watch TV. But some—myself included—actually do have hobbies. And the most common hobby is sports. For the next few weeks we will learn about several Muggle sports, including soccer—football, I mean—basketball, baseball, track and field, American football, field hockey, and others. We will probably spend the most time on football, because it's the most popular Muggle sport in the world. Now, I'm assuming that at least some of you are Muggle born and are taking this course for an easy A. Or whatever the British equivalent is. Do any of you play football?" A few hands went up. One was a girl. "Excellent. That will make things easier when we start playing. Yes, Miss--" I looked at my attendance sheet. "Cooper?"

"We'll actually get to _play_ football?" Miss Cooper asked, sounding dubious but hopeful.

"Of course," I said. "Not today. On Wednesday, maybe. Today we'll cover the basics—the field, the rules, the equipment, the positions, etc. Now, a soccer field—or a pitch, I think you call it here—are usually between a hundred and a hundred and ten meters long and between sixty and seventy meters wide. It looks like this..."

I turned to the blackboard and drew a soccer field, using a pointer to indicate the various lines and their purposes. I drew little X's to denote players and their positions. I gave them the basic rules—you know, no hands except on a throw in (and except for the goalie), no tackling from behind, no elbows. I then explained about offsides and some of the more obscure rules, like when you can pass back to a goalie and what sort of foul will get you a direct vs. indirect kick. They looked interested—they took notes, at least—and at the end of the class, I felt like I had done a decent job.

"Don't forget to wear clothes you can play in on Wednesday," I said as they packed up. "And if you have soccer shoes, bring them."

After class, I slipped away to the forest—which was technically Forbidden—and changed. I explored and ran until it took the edge off my restlessness. At lunch, Granger congratulated me as she passed by my seat. She said a few of her students—most notably Miss Cooper—were thrilled that they were going to actually play.

"I must say, I'm impressed that you would go so far as to do a practical application of the lesson," she said. "Are you going to have the Muggle born students teach the others?"

"I don't understand," I said, frowning in confusion. "Why would I have the students teach?"

"Well, are _you_ going to—oh," Granger said, blushing. "You mean you know how to play football?"

I laughed. "I've been playing soccer since I could walk."

"Oh, my. I'm sorry, you just seem kind of—well, I just thought girls who play football are more--"

"Beefy?" I suggested with a smile. "Nah. I was the captain of my high school team."

"Oh," she said, still somewhat pink. "Do you intend to teach them all the sports?"

"Not all," I said. "I don't have the right equipment and I'm not that familiar with all of them. I can do track and field, though. I can probably set up hurtles somehow, and some of the field events. It would be fun for them to run races, at least, don't you think?"

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Granger said heartily. "I could probably help you get what you need, I think. Why don't we meet after dinner to discuss it?"

"Alright," I said. "The library?"

Granger spent a lot of time in the library.

"No, I was thinking the seventh floor," Granger said. "By the statue of Barnabas the Barmy." Seeing my blank look, she laughed and said, "The library, then. Eightish?"

"Sure."

I spent the rest of the day exploring the castle and reading in my room. After dinner, I went to the library a little early to see what it had to offer. I found the fiction section and found several adventure novels that looked promising. I then wandered over to the reference section, thinking it could be beneficial to do some background reading.

I skimmed the titles and stopped at one called _If At First You Don't Succeed, Rise, Rise Again: The Rise and Fall (and Rise Again) of You-Know-Who._ Was 'You-Know-Who' the same person as Draco's Dark Lord? I sat down with my back against the shelves and opened the book. As I read, I came to the conclusion that they probably were the same person. His name was Lord Voldemort, but everyone called him You-Know-Who or the Dark Lord or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because they were afraid of him. It seemed rather silly to me.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head when I read about how Voldemort was defeated a little more than twenty years ago by an infant boy, who now bore a lightning bolt scar on his forehead from the encounter. The Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter. My cousin, the idiotic jackass. I read about how he battled Voldemort in his first year of Hogwarts, saving the Philosopher's Stone, whatever that was, and again in his second, fourth, fifth, and seventh years. And survived every time I was confused about how he battled Voldemort in his second year since, according to the book, he rose again in Potter's fourth year, but who was I to argue?

"There you are," Granger said, peeking around the corner of the shelf.

I looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry, what time is it?"

"Just a little after eight," Granger said. "Don't worry, I was working in here anyway. What are you reading?"

I showed her the title. "How did Potter fight Voldemort in his second year if he rose again in Potter's fourth year?"

"It wasn't actually Voldemort," Granger explained. "It was a...a memory of Voldemort, imprisoned in a diary. Part of Voldemort's spirit."

"Oh," I said, frowning at the book. "I didn't know I had a famous cousin."

"He didn't know he was famous until he came to Hogwarts," Granger said. I thought she sounded the slightest bit defensive.

"He's welcome to it," I shrugged. "I wouldn't want people paying attention to me all the time."

"I should think you would be used to it," she snorted.

I thought of telling her that being pretty allowed you to be almost invisible. That people assumed beautiful women were just that: beautiful and nothing else. I thought of telling her that this made life easier. Let people assume what they will; misconceptions can lend you an advantage. The less people know about you, the better. In light of this sentiment, I didn't tell her any of that. Instead, I said what she expected to hear.

"It's a different sort of attention entirely," I said smugly.

"I can see why you're married to Malfoy," Granger muttered.

"Isn't it obvious?" I retorted, mimicking her accent. Then I dropped it. "So are you and Potter together?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no," Granger said. "We've been best friends forever. And you can call him Harry, you know. He _is_ your cousin."

"Cousin or not, I've met him once," I said, though that really wasn't the reason. After all, I'd been on excellent terms with Kallias from the start. I just didn't like Potter.

"Nonsense, you see him every day at mealtimes. You should get to know him," Granger urged me. "He's a good person. And he doesn't have any other family."

"I think not," I said disdainfully. "And even if I felt like making the effort—which I don't—I doubt he would appreciate it. I'm married to the enemy, remember?"

"Not the enemy anymore," Granger reminded me.

"I don't think they got that memo," I snorted. "They seem to hate each other."

"Oh, they do," Granger said. She sounded amused. "I swear, whenever they're together, it's like time rewinds ten years."

"Was he really that different?" I asked, curious in spite of myself. "Neither of you recognized him when we first came here. It seems kind of odd to forget your arch-nemesis."

"Very different," Granger agreed. "We haven't seen him since he left school. And back then he was...well, to be quite honest, he looked like a rodent."

I laughed incredulously. I was too surprised to be offended. Draco? The idea that he was ever anything but gorgeous was simply laughable.

"He did," Granger said, almost maliciously. "He looked like an albino lab rat. All skinny and pale. Even his hair was almost white. I don't know if he bleached it then or dyes it now, but it can't be natural."

"You'd be surprised," I said, momentarily diverted. "My hair was blond when I was little and it got darker as I grew up. In any case, Draco would never resort to coloring his hair."

"Maybe he's grown up," Granger said with a shrug. "If you had a hand in that, I commend you. I didn't think it was possible."

"Believe me, he was very grown up when I met him," I informed her coolly.

We walked in silence for some time until we came to a statue—Barnabas the Barmy, I suppose. Granger stopped and turned to me.

"Now, what you need to do is walk up and down this corridor three times while thinking about what you need to teach the Muggle-Studies course," she said. "You might feel a little silly, but it will work."

"What will work? What's supposed to happen?"

"You'll see."

Feeling a little bit more than silly, I walked up and down concentrating on soccer and track. Was something happening? Was it working? I finished my third 'lap' and stopped in front of Granger, who pointed to a door behind me that I was sure hadn't been there before.

"The Room of Requirement," Granger told me, opening the door. "It gives you whatever you need. Oh, my. What is all this stuff?"

"Hurtles," I said happily. "Javelines, shot-puts, disks, a high-jump mat and standards—oh, wow, there's even pole vaulting equipment—bags of sand, measuring tape, stop-watches."

I poked around in the corners and found soccer balls, pinnies, cones, rule books for various sports, and other useful sports paraphernalia like waterbottles. Everything was tucked into what little available space there was—the pole vault and high jump mats took up most of the room. Speaking of which...

"How are we going to get this stuff outside?" I asked. "I don't think it will fit through the door."

"I'll shrink it," Granger said with a blithe shrug, reminding me how out of my depth I was.

"Oh. Well, thank you," I said awkwardly. "Should we wait? I won't be starting track for at least a few weeks."

"Yes, we'll wait," Granger agreed. "Don't you want the footballs, though?"

"Oh, yes," I said, and found a ball bag.

"One more thing," Granger said. "I would rather you didn't tell anyone about this."

"Not even my husband?" I asked with a frown.

"He already knows about it," Granger said, scowling. "But almost all of the people who originally knew about it are dead or gone."

"I won't tell."

"Good."

When I had everything I needed, Granger and I went our separate ways. I made sure I paid attention to where I was going on the way to my room; I wanted to be able to come back. I wanted to start playing the piano again. I wondered if it would magically produce Draco if I concentrated very hard. Then again, that might prove a little inconvenient for him.

On that less-than-comforting thought, I retired to my rooms and fell into a light, fitful sleep in which I dreamed all manner of uncomfortable things. I woke up the next morning out of sorts and didn't feel like going to breakfast at all. So when an owl swooped through my bedroom window, I was a little surprised. And by "a little surprised", I mean I screamed like a little girl and fell off the bed.

I snatched up the letter the owl had left and eagerly ripped off the ribbon binding the parchment. It was from Draco. He was fine aside from occasional homicidal urges (he was with Potter). He couldn't tell me everything, but they were on a mission to stop an assassination attempt on the Minister of Magic. Things weren't going as well as they had hoped, so he probably wouldn't be back for another week. My heart fell as I read this and I crumpled up the letter and chucked it against the wall. It made an entirely unsatisfying sort of "pat" sound as it hit the wall. Not even a decent "thump".

My bad mood remained throughout the day, though I did cheer up a little when I finally got the chance to speak with Gabrielle. We met in the library and pretended that I was helping her with her homework while we were actually talking about where I had been and why I was here. In French, of course. She said she knew of a room that not many people knew about on the seventh floor where we could talk without being suspicious. I agreed without reservation. Hey, I hadn't told her about it.

So we met at the Room of Requirement every day after dinner to talk and relax. It felt good to have a friend. Granger and I were on cordial, even friendly terms, but there was also a sense of distance between us. I liked Gabrielle much better. She could sing, too. She was a second soprano to my first. So we would sing together or she would teach me things about the wizarding world or sometimes we would just read. It was nice.

Then one evening, a little over a week after I arrived at Hogwarts, something extremely unfortunate happened. I was walking back to my rooms from the Room of Requirement when I felt a sharp pain in my belly, almost like menstrual cramps but more acute. Concerned, I tried to examine myself using magic but found that I couldn't. When I tried to reach for the magic it was like it just slipped through my fingers.

Oh, my God, I thought dizzily. That was why I'd been feeling so strange and not sleeping well. How could I have been so stupid? I had gotten used to have old magic around me like a blanket. A big, fuzzy, comforting blanky. And now it was gone—or, if it wasn't gone, I couldn't get to it. How could I have been so oblivious? And did that mean...oh, shit. I had used my old magic to keep myself from getting pregnant. Oh, _fuck_.

I have passed out exactly twice in my life. The first time was when my father died. That time, the worst that happened was that, well, my father died. But, physically, the worst that happened was that I knocked my head and got a mild concussion. The second time—this time—I passed out not because I suddenly realized that I had no old magic and was therefore about a million times weaker than I should have been, but because I realized I might be pregnant. I wasn't even sure: just the possibility was enough. And this time, I was unfortunately standing at the top of a very large flight of stairs.

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed with an old, matronly woman leaning over me with a cup of something smelly to drink. I sniffed cautiously, but it was nothing more than chamomile with honey. I accepted it gratefully and sipped while I inspected the nurse before me.

"How are you feeling, dearie?" she asked, smiling. "You took quite a tumble!"

"I feel alright, I guess," I said, looking around. "Where am I?"

"In the school infirmary, dear," she replied, patting my hand. "I'm Madame Pomfrey. You call me Poppy, though, there's a dear. I've heard all about you from students and teachers alike. I'm so glad to finally meet you, Professor. Are you enjoying Hogwarts? Here, eat this."

I took the slab of chocolate she practically shoved at me and nibbled cautiously. It was good. Poppy Pomfrey was talking again, having apparently forgot that she asked me a question.

"You broke your ankle and your arm and bruised a few ribs and concussed yourself, but I took care of all that. You might still have headaches for a few days, though. Luckily, no harm was done to the baby, though I suppose it isn't big enough for any harm to be done yet, is it?" She stared curiously as I choked on my tea, narrowly avoiding drooling all over the sheets. "Are you quite alright, dear?"

"I'm—I'm pregnant?" I choked, feeling faint again. "You're sure?"

"Quite sure," Pomfrey said, beaming. "Isn't that exciting?"

Several words came to mind—most of them with four letters—but 'exciting' was definitely not one of them. I took a deep breath and counted to ten before releasing it. Okay. Okay. Wizards probably had some simple, easy method of abortion. A potion or something.

"Is there anything to be done?" I asked.

"Done?" Pomfrey asked, looking confused. "Well, I suppose I could give you some pamphlets on pregnancy, but implantation only just occurred. You really don't have to worry about anything yet."

"No," I said impatiently. "I mean is there anything to be done to get _rid_ of it."

Madame Pomfrey gasped, scandalized. "Get rid of it! My dear young woman, how could you even contemplate such a thing? Get rid of it! I realize it is something of a shock, but really! If you didn't want children, you should have taken proper precautions. Get _rid_ of your baby? What would your husband say?"

Jesus, what _would_ my husband say? I felt sick. There was something _living_ in me. Eating away at my insides. It would grow and I would get fat and heavy and weighed down. My feet would hurt and I'd get weird cravings and Draco would be so excited about a baby that he wouldn't see _me_ anymore. He would forget about me and I'd have to be fat and disgusting all by myself. Fat! Me? I couldn't be fat, I was perfect! Perfect, damn it, and no way was I going to let some nasty little tapeworm ruin my body.

I didn't want a baby. I didn't want a kid hanging on me every second of the day, whining and crying and—and _sucking_ on me. And then it would grow and turn into a complete brat and then a moody preteen and then an uncontrollable teenager. Oh, my God, _I_ was still a teenager. And the next twenty years or so of my life were over. Gone. I was sentenced to twenty years with a screaming, crying, puking, shitting, pissing ball and chain. I would be almost forty before I could call my life my own again.

"I've taken care of all your injuries," Pomfrey said. "Here are you clothes. You're free to go."

"Thank you," I said dazedly. "I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said coldly, and bustled away.

I wandered back to my rooms in a haze of disbelief and despair. Once there, I stood staring at the fireplace until I felt a cool hand on the back of my neck. I turned to see Artemis regarding me with compassion in her eyes. I blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment.

"There's nothing you can do?" I asked finally.

"No," she said. "Not here. You could ask your husband to bring you back to Greece, but--"

"Then he would know that I'm p-pregnant," I finished, struggling to get the last word out without bursting into tears. "What am I going to do?"

"There isn't anything you can do," Artemis told me. "I've already asked Brighid if she would lend a hand, but there really isn't any reason for you not to have a baby. You're young, healthy, strong...a baby poses no threat to you physically. You have a loving, caring—rich—husband. You will have no problems providing for the child. Brighid refused."

"Who is Brighid?" I asked wearily.

"A Celtic goddess of fertility," Artemis told me. "I'm a goddess of the hunt—of maidenhood. I know why you don't want a baby. I know you're not ready for it. But Brighid is rather more conservative, I'm afraid." Artemis stroked my hair lightly. "I wish I could help you."

"Aren't there—I don't know, herbs or something?" I asked desperately.

"Yes," Artemis said. "But to get them you would need to tell your husband what you want them for. You _are_ going to tell him that you're pregnant, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said miserably. I laughed humorlessly. "He'll be thrilled."

Artemis regarded me solemnly for a moment, then kissed my cheek and disappeared.

I heard her voice whisper in my ear, "Have faith."

I sat down on the couch and began to shake.

The next few days were without a doubt the worst of my entire life to date. Now that I knew I couldn't reach the old magic, the anxious, nagging feeling that I was missing something went away, but it was replaced with the harrowing knowledge that it was gone. I wasn't sure which was worse.

On top of that, there was of course the knowledge that I was pregnant. I did my best to put it out of my mind and sometimes I almost succeeded—my Muggle Studies class was really quite fun. But sometimes I would find myself paralyzed with fear and unable to breath. I went running every chance I got as if I could somehow shake it loose if I ran enough.

Draco came and went—he had to take Granger to Malfoy Manor and to Greenwood to look for some Dark texts that she needed. Something to do with the Horcruxes, I think. He stayed only two days before leaving again. I couldn't tell him. I tried, but nothing came out. Then he was back a few days later and I couldn't tell him because it was the full moon. Then he left the next morning and was gone for a week and I thought I would go crazy if I didn't tell _someone_.

In fact, I sort of did go crazy. For a few minutes, anyway. I was in class, discussing the merits of a four-four-two lineup when all of a sudden I was struck by a wave of nausea so severe I had to rush out of the classroom. I sprinted down the hall, hoping to make it to the bathroom, but no such luck. I puked all over the hallway on my hands and knees and collapsed against the wall, sobbing. Which was how Hermione Granger found me about ten minutes later: eyes and nose streaming, covered in vomit, and shaking uncontrollably.

"Malcolm—are you alright?" Granger knelt in front of me, hands on my shoulders. "Are you ill?"

"I'm not—sick," I replied between sobs, clutching at my belly. "I wish I were. I wish—"

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" she said bluntly, cleaning up the mess with a wave of her wand. She looked down at me with a mixture of sternness and understanding and sighed. "Accidents can happen."

"If I were one of your students you'd be saying something completely different," I accused her, hiccuping. "You'd tell me that I'm too young to have sex and I should have taken precautions at least and I have only myself to blame and that if I'm not ready for a baby I'm not ready to have sex."

Granger opened her mouth as if to protest, then shut it.

"Perhaps," she admitted. "But you're not one of my students. You're my colleague and a married woman, even if you are a little young to be having a baby."

"A little young," I repeated, laughing somewhat hysterically. "Granger, how old am I?"

"I don't know," Granger said, startled.

"Take a guess," I insisted.

"I don't know," Granger said again, looking exasperated. "Twenty one--twenty two, maybe?"

I laughed, pressing my face into my hands. I imagine I looked more than a little unhinged. I looked up at Granger, who had a concerned expression on her face. At least, I thought she looked concerned; she was kind of blurry.

"Your colleague," I said despairingly. "This is ridiculous. Oh, God, how did this happen to me--"

"Why is it ridiculous?" Granger asked rationally, trying to make me feel better, I suppose. "You're not a witch, but you've done quite well, all things considered--"

"I'm eighteen!" I cried, sobbing even more forcefully. "I turned eighteen in February, for Christ's sake. Two of my students are older than me. I can't have a baby—I don't know what to do. I don't—don't--"

Granger's shocked silence was covered up by my sobs. I felt like my insides were coming out my nose, I was crying so hard. I felt so small and alone—so helpless. For the first time, I almost—almost—wished that I had never come to England, never met Draco. I wished I had never been bitten. Then my father would still be alive and we would be celebrating my acceptance to Princeton—the payoff for all my years of being smart and athletic and talented. I would be looking forward to four years of college with other creepily accomplished people like myself and a long, successful career in foreign affairs. I wouldn't be sitting in a dank, dark, chilly corridor covered in tears and vomit wishing I could tear my guts out so I wouldn't have to have a baby.

"Come on," Granger said gently. "Let's get you in bed. I'll take over your class."

"No," I said forcefully, shaking her hand off. More calmly, I continued, "If you could clean my robes, I can handle the class myself."

Granger regarded me for a moment and then did as I asked. I accepted the handkerchief she offered and dried my eyes. I took a few deep breaths, straightened my hair, and put my fake glasses back on.

"How do I look?" I asked.

"Fine," Granger said. She looked troubled. "But I don't know if you should--"

"Miss Granger," I interrupted. "I may be younger than you thought, but I am not a child anymore. I wish I were, but I'm not. Thank you for your help."

I turned away, walked back to class, and finished the lesson. Then I went to my rooms and collapsed on the bed. I didn't move for hours. When I missed dinner, a house elf named Dobby brought me some sandwiches. I thanked him absently and didn't move. I felt numb. Cold and numb. But after so many days of internal turmoil, I welcomed it.

I suppose you could call it a blessing that Draco arrived that night, while I was still lying on the bed in the same position that I'd been in for the past six hours. At least he hadn't been there to witness my breakdown. He entered the dark room carefully and silently, as if he didn't want to disturb me. He thought I was asleep.

"Hello, Draco," I said, and he started slightly.

"Hello," he said, leaning over to the bed and kissing my forehead. "I didn't realize you were awake."

"Draco, I'm pregnant."

I was surprised at how easy it was. It just slipped out, as if I didn't have the strength to hold it in anymore. Draco froze and then sat down beside me.

"I thought you said you had it covered." He didn't sound accusing, just puzzled.

"I used old magic," I said numbly. "I can't use it here."

"But Christo said--"

"I know. So did Kallias. I don't know why I can't use it."

I waited impassively for his reaction. It didn't matter. I was going to have a baby and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it—unless Draco decided he didn't want a baby either and offered to get me abortive medicines. Fat chance.

"You're going to have a baby," Draco muttered. "This is—unexpected."

"To say the least," I replied, feeling a small flicker of wry amusement underneath the layer of ice that seemed to have coated my mind.

"A baby," Draco murmured. He placed a hand on my stomach and began to smile, then to laugh. "A baby!"

"Draco," I protested as he swept me into his arms and spun me around. "What's the matter with you? This is a terrible time to have a—to be pregnant. What if something happens to you? I can't do this on my own!"

"Nothing is going to happen to me," he said confidently, hugging me tightly. "I won't let you down. Not when you're going to have a baby."

God, I wished he would stop saying that word. The ice shattered and once again I was barraged by fear and dread. It was already starting. Now it was about the tapeworm, not me.

"Ari," he said softly. "I know you're frightened. I know we didn't plan on having children so soon, but everything will be alright. I'll take care of you. Both of you."

I didn't say anything but rested my head against Draco's chest, listening to his heart beat. I knew he would have no trouble providing for us. That wasn't the point. The point was that I simply wasn't ready to do this. I sighed and slumped against my husband. Draco's presence took the edge off of my panic and softened the wild despair into something like resignation. I wasn't ready, I didn't want to, and I was scared shitless by the very idea, but I had no choice. I had to. I might as well make the best of it. Draco was thrilled and I had no doubt that he would be a wonderful father.

But what kind of mother would I be? What kind of mother doesn't want her child? If I was going to do this, I had to stop thinking of it as—well, an it—and accept it as my child. My child, not a parasite. Not a burden. Not a twenty-year sentence. My child. My baby. I made myself say it over and over again in my head until the words ceased to incite panic.

After I told Draco, he made an effort to be around more, but he was still gone more often than not over the next few weeks. I puked almost every morning and couldn't keep much down at all. No one acted differently toward me, so I assumed Granger hadn't told anyone about my age or my condition. I eventually told Gabrielle but swore her to absolute secrecy on both counts. Even so, rumors began flying around the school that I had been having an affair with Professor Slughorn, who did absolutely nothing to quell such rumors.

I wasn't surprised that people knew or at least speculated that I was pregnant. I wasn't showing yet, but it was hard to explain why I sometimes turned green and had to rush out of the room. Once I didn't even make it to the door and had to use the wastebasket in the classroom. It was one of the more humiliating experiences in my life.

I started spending a lot of time in the library, helping Granger research. I got the feeling that she didn't really want to involve me but needed all the help she could get. Potter sometimes helped as well. He made a point of being scrupulously polite. I did the same. All the same, there was some wall between us. Whether it was the fact that I was married to Draco or that our mothers were sisters, I didn't know. We just sat in silence and researched.

I was puzzled by the topic—we were looking for magical military artifacts. Helmets, in particular. I made notes on whatever I came across, but nothing seemed very useful. One day, we were finding even less than usual so took a break. Granger led the way down to the kitchens, where about a gazillion house elves bustled about, piling our plates with goodies. I thought now might be a good time to ask her something I'd been wondering about for ages.

"Granger," I said. "What were you and Potter and that other person doing in Greece a couple of months ago?"

Granger choked on her pumpkin juice—who came up with _that_ brilliant idea, anyway?--and stared at me, mouth hanging open in shock.

"How do you know we were in Greece?"

"I saw you," I said. "You were looking in some underwater caves near my grandparents' house."

"There were no houses on that island," Granger said flatly. "And the island was miles and miles offshore."

I shrugged. "I swim a lot. Does it have something to do with what we're researching?"

"Yes," Granger said after a moment. "I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. We were looking for one of the Horcruxes. And we found it in one of those caves. It's a helmet. We haven't put it on, of course, but it has some sort of purpose aside from holding Voldemort's soul."

"Is that what a Horcrux is?" I asked. "A container for a soul?"

"Sort of," Granger said. "Voldemort made seven Horcruxes—each one with a little bit of his soul. It's terribly, terribly dark magic because not only does it rip the soul apart, it requires a murder to provide the necessary power. And Voldemort did it not once but seven times. He was obsessed with immortality."

"So you need to destroy the Horcruxes before you can destroy him," I said.

"Before Harry can destroy him," Granger corrected me. "There's a prophecy that says Harry and Voldemort can't coexist—one has to kill the other."

"Prophecies," I muttered. "I wouldn't put much store in them. I had one and it was complete garbage."

"There was a prophecy about you?" Granger asked dubiously.

"Not about me, no," I replied. "I went to Apollo's Oracle in Delos to ask what I would meet here in England and she started babbling about life in death and making bargains and returning some lost object to its rightful owner and other nonsense."

"What did she say, exactly?" Granger asked, whipping out a quill and a piece of parchment.

"Hold on," I said, thinking back. "Well, she said 'Life in death' would await me and--"

"That's what she said? 'Life in death', not 'life and death' or 'life--"

"Life in death," I said a little irritably.

"Alright," Granger said, unperturbed. "The wording is very important, you know. Go on."

"She told me to return 'that which was stolen'--or lost, I can't remember—and to regain a key that was lost 'in the depths of mystery'. I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

"Is that it?" Granger asked, scribbling madly.

"Yes—no, wait, there was one more thing," I said, trying to remember. "She said I had to strike a bargain with the Rich One and that—that to bargain I had to have something to trade."

"The Rich One?" Granger asked. "Who's that?"

I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Think," she urged me. "Malfoy is bringing in people with some sort of 'old magic' that supposedly has something to do with ancient gods. Could the Rich One--"

"Wait," I said. "Draco is bringing Christo?"

"Oh, right, he's your cousin," Granger said absently, staring at her notes. "Yes, he is."

"He didn't tell me that," I said, scowling.

"It was only decided last night," Granger said. "Could the Rich One refer to something in Greek mythology, d'you think?"

"Of course," I said, smacking my forehead. "The Rich One is another name for Hades. The god of the dead. But that doesn't make any sense. How could I strike a bargain with Hades?"

"Maybe it doesn't literally mean Hades," Granger suggested. "Maybe it just means you'll bargain your way out of death."

"Maybe," I said, though I didn't think so. Something tugged at my brain. What was I missing?

"Well, we should probably get back to work," Granger said, tucking the parchment away. "I want to look at Herodotus' description of Spartan armor again."

"Wait--" I blurted. "Granger, what color is this helmet?"

"Black, why?"

"Oh, dear," I said worriedly. "And you said it seems to have some purpose aside from being a Horcrux?"

"Yes, but I can't very well put it on, can I?" Granger said impatiently.

"Couldn't you put it on something else?" I asked. "Like a statue or something?"

"I suppose we could try that," Granger said, looking surprised. "Why?"

"I think...if I'm right..." I stopped. "We need to try it right away."

Granger looked at me curiously but led me to her rooms. I waited outside while she got the helmet and we went up to the Room of Requirement. We entered on a room full of manikins in warrior poses. Despite the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, I had to laugh.

"Alright," Granger said. "Here goes nothing."

She settled the helmet on one of the statues and it disappeared. Granger poked the air cautiously.

"Invisible," she said. "Interesting." She glanced at me. "What's wrong?"

"I know what that helmet is," I said. "It's not Spartan. It's much older than that. Much, much older."

"What are you on about?"

"It belongs to Hades," I said. "The god of the Underworld."

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Granger asked, frowning in annoyance. "I would like serious suggestions, if you please."

"I'm completely serious," I assured her. "You found that helmet in Greece, didn't you?"

"Yes, but that doesn't prove--"

"Look it up," I suggested. "Hades had a black helmet that made the wearer invisible. He lent it to heroes sometimes to help them on quests. If Voldemort wanted to live forever, how better to spit in death's eye than to use Hades' helmet as one of his Horcruxes?"

"That is a wonderful theory," Granger said, rolling her eyes, "except that it assumes that Hades is _real_."

"Another non-believer," a voice interrupted. "How tiresome."

I looked around and saw a very large, very fluffy, very ugly ginger cat with a squashed nose. It perched on the shoulders of one of the manikins, staring at us.

"Hermes," I said disgustedly. "First a monkey, now this. Have you no pride? At least the monkey was cute."

"Are you talking to Crookshanks?" Granger asked uncertainly.

"If Crookshanks is the cat, then yes," I said. "But he's not really a cat right now—or not _just_ a cat, I should say."

"What are you talking about?" Granger snapped. "Of course he's a cat."

"He's also me," Hermes declared. "Hermes. I can't reveal myself to you in my true form, so I've had to borrow your cat. Hope you don't mind. He doesn't."

"This is crazy," Granger muttered. "I've been working too hard."

"You haven't been working hard enough," Hermes retorted. "It didn't even occur to you to look to the myths for the answer."

"Myths aren't real," Granger cried, frustrated. "And neither are gods."

"Oh, I'm sorry, does your cat talk to you often?" Hermes replied scathingly. "If so, I'm sure I can find a suitably mundane specimen to possess."

"Give me one more piece of evidence," Granger said. "Irrefutable evidence."

"What, a talking cat isn't good enough for you?"

Hermes hopped down from the manikin and twined around her legs. Oh, dear. The cat—now just a cat—sat back and watched his mistress curiously as she twitched and convulsed. A more mundane specimen, indeed, I thought wryly.

"Think this is good enough for her?" Hermes asked me with Granger's mouth. "I didn't want to resort to this, but some people just refuse to see what's right in front of them. Isn't that right, sweet-cheeks?"

Granger appeared to pinch her own cheek. Abruptly, Hermes was back in the cat and Granger fell to the floor, gasping. She was pale and sweaty. She looked like she might throw up. I backed away just in case.

"Believe me now?" Hermes asked. Granger nodded. "Good. Now, you're on the right track. Hades' helmet has been lost for centuries, floating about in the ocean. Hades thinks _I_ lost it, but I'm certain it was Athena's fault. Or Perseus'. Anyone could have picked it up, as Lord Moldy-wart or whatever he calls himself has shown us. Anyway, I'm sure Hades would like it back."

"Could he destroy it?" Granger asked.

"Why would he want to do that?" Hermes exclaimed indignantly. "He's been on my case since the Trojan War about the damn thing."

"Could he undo the magic that makes it a Horcrux?" I clarified.

"Now you're talking," Hermes commended me. "Yes, he most certainly can. You just need to get it to him."

"I just need to..." I paled. "You're saying I have to die?"

"Ariadne, really," Hermes said reproachfully. "I'm saying nothing of a sort. Weren't you listening to the Oracle at all? Life in death. Odysseus did it. Orpheus did it. You can do it, too. There's even an entrance here in Britain. It was taken from Italy, I believe. Just chiseled out of the mountain. So crude."

"So you're saying I have to go give Hades his helmet back," I said hollowly. "In the Underworld."

"Yes, that's exactly it," Hermes said. "Very good."

"You don't think that's asking a lot?"

"The Underworld will be the easy part," Hermes told me. "Once you're in, I'll be right there beside you. Actually getting to the entrance will be rather more difficult, I imagine."

"And where is this entrance?" I asked wearily.

"You _weren't_ listening to the oracle, were you?" Hermes reprimanded, as if he were accusing me of sleeping in class. "She said it quite clearly. Honestly, Ariadne. Must I do everything _for_ you?"

With that, he disappeared. I turned to Granger and sighed. Being a mature adult, I did not stick my tongue out or point and laugh or say 'I told you so'. I did however, remark casually,

"I hate it when he does that."

Granger nodded weakly.

"Do you have any idea what he was talking about?" I asked. "About an entrance to the Underworld in Britain?"

"I need a drink," Granger muttered. "I never drink. Merlin, I can't think about this right now. Meet me here tomorrow, alright?"

"Make good choices," I called after her, though I was as shocked as she was.

Alright, maybe not quite as shocked. I was, however, more than slightly concerned. Traveling to the Underworld? There was a reason that only a handful of people in the history of the world have done it. It was the _Underworld_, for Christ's sake. The land of the dead. And not just the Greek land of the dead. _The_ land of the dead. Different cultures might have different names for it, but it was the same thing, really. Death is universal.

"I think I need a bath, too," I said to the cat, who was industriously licking his paws.

The next morning, Granger and I met in the Room of Requirement during lunch. The Room thoughtfully provided us with comfy chairs, sandwiches, a pitcher of water, and several books with titles like _How to Get to Where You Shouldn't Be_ and_ The Cat Burglar's Guide to Breaking and Entering. _

_"_So," I said. "Have you recovered enough to think about where this entrance is?"

"As long as I don't think about the gods part too much," Granger replied. "He said the Oracle told you where it was. So let's go over what she said again." She took out the piece of parchment she'd taken notes on the day before. "Okay, so we know what 'life in death' means. We know who the Rich One is and what was stolen. All that remains is this key that was lost in the 'depths of mystery' and a bargain to be made. I suppose you have to bargain for the key with the helmet. But what is the key?"

"I don't suppose there's a door somewhere that you need to open?" I asked half-heartedly.

"No," Granger said, thinking. "'The depths of mystery'. Hmm. Maybe the key is a piece of information."

"Is there anything you've been trying to figure out?" I asked. "This prophecy or riddle or whatever you want to call it seems to be very case-specific."

"Well, I've been trying to figure out how to destroy the bracelet," Hermione said. "But I don't see how Hades would know."

"Maybe he has something that could destroy it," I suggested. "A magic hammer or something."

Granger gave me a Look.

"Well, Thor had a magic hammer," I said defensively. "Anyway, Hermes said the entrance was imported from Italy. So it can't be very large, can it?"

"That's right," Granger said. "He said it was chiseled out of the mountainside. So it's made of stone. It could be a stone door or a portal of some kind. Or maybe a portkey."

"Lost in the depths of mystery," I said thoughtfully. "That's the only part that could possibly tell us where the entrance is. Hey, what if I'm not supposed to bargain for the key after all? What if we need to find the key to the entrance?"

"That's an idea," Granger sighed. "Except we don't know where either of them are."

"Maybe we're thinking too abstractly," I said. "Maybe 'mystery' _is_ the location. Is there a place somewhere in Britain whose name means 'mystery' or 'mysterious', maybe? In, I don't know, Gaelic or something?"

"Not that I--" Granger gasped. "Oh, my God. That's it! Malcolm, you're a genius! I can't believe I missed that, it was staring me right in the face--"

"Are you planning on sharing whatever it is you've figured out?" I asked a little irritably.

"Oh, yes, of course," Granger said, calming down a little. "I know where the entrance is. Oh, it was so _obvious_. Why didn't I--"

"Granger!"

"It's in London," she said. "In the Department of Mysteries."

oh, dun dun DUNN. Hope I didn't freak you out with Ari's...um, reluctance...to have a baby

shai


	15. It's All About Me

oh, good. Glad no one was freaked out. Here you go.

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Several hours later, we were in the Room of Requirement yet again. Except we had company, this time. Draco and Potter were there, as well as a tall, red-haired man named Weasley. The Minister's younger brother, as it happened. We all sat in tense silence, nibbling on cookies. I wondered what we were waiting for. I was about to ask when the door opened to reveal Christo.

"Christo," I said happily, hugging him. "I'm glad you're here."

I couldn't help sending an almost accusing glance at Potter. _This _is my cousin, the look said. Not you. You're a stranger. Christo took a seat with Draco and me on the couch. Potter, Granger, and Weasley sat opposite us.

"Alright," Granger said. "Malc—Mrs. Malfoy and I have figured out how to destroy the helmet. She has to go through the veil in the Department of Mysteries and give it back to its rightful owner."

"Absolutely not," Draco and Potter said in unison, and glared at each other.

"She's not going," Draco said firmly. "It's suicide."

"Literally," Potter added. "Wait, how do you know about the veil? And how did you know about the Horcruxes, for that matter?"

"Later," Draco growled.

"No," Potter said, jaw set. "I want to know now."

Draco hesitated. "I looked into Dumbledore's Pensieve."

"Impossible," Potter said flatly. "I keep it in my Gringott's vault. It's been in there since Dumbledore died."

"Yes, it was in your vault," Draco said impatiently. "And so was I."

"What were you looking for?" Granger asked, interrupting Potter.

"Answers," Draco said cryptically.

Potter glared angrily at Draco. "I want to know how you--"

"Excuse me, but we _were _talking about something to do with a veil and a helmet and an owner of one of them," Christo said, looking bewildered. "What veil? What helmet are we talking about, why do we have to destroy it, and who is the rightful owner?"

Hermione gave everyone a brief run-down on what we had learned and waited for their reactions. Draco looked angry and upset, Christo surprised but not disbelieving, and Potter and Weasley just looked blank. I could see the conflict going on in their heads. They were clearly used to Granger figuring things out, but definitely not used to hearing such far fetched ideas coming from her.

"I wouldn't fight it if I were you," I advised them, smiling patronizingly. "The gods—Hermes in particular—go to rather extreme measures to make a point."

"Hermione," Potter said. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," Granger assured him. "Now, the first question we need to answer is, what is the 'key'? We discussed it and think that it could be a piece of information—perhaps how to destroy the bracelet. Does anyone have any other ideas?"

"Not really, no," Weasley said. "It could be anything. I think we need to concentrate on how to get in there."

"Yeah, we could spend weeks speculating," Potter agreed. "We know what we have to do to destroy one Horcrux—let's figure out _how_ to it."

"Excuse me, I believe we're overlooking one small—tiny—minuscule, even—but entirely crucial detail," Draco pointed out pleasantly. "My wife is not going through any veil. She's not going anywhere near it."

"Draco," I protested. "I have to. Weren't you listening? You can't ignore the gods."

"I don't care," Draco said shortly. "You are not going to risk your life and my child's life just so you can do Potter's dirty work for him."

"Do you think I care about Potter?" I demanded hotly. "I'm doing this for _us_. This can't end unless the Horcruxes are destroyed and we can't leave until its over. I hate this place, Draco. I want to go home."

"You're not going," Draco said. "End of story. We'll find another way to destroy the Horcruxes."

"There is no other way," I cried. "Even if there is, it could be too late by the time we figure it out. The only reason we're here is to destroy Voldemort and we can't do that unless the Horcruxes are destroyed."

"She's right, _Tsichlo_," Christo said softly.

"Then let Potter go," Draco said. "He's the bloody Chosen One, isn't he?"

"He's right," Potter said, shooting a dirty look at Draco. "Voldemort is my problem. I can't ask anyone to do it for me."

"You ass," I said disgustedly. "He's everyone's problem. And you can't do this."

"Why the bloody hell not?" Draco snapped. "This is just the sort of noble, crackpot scheme he--"

"Look, I want to go," Potter interrupted. "You don't understand—if I could go through the veil--"

"There, see? He wants to--"

"No," I said gently. "I'm sorry—both of you. It has to be me."

"Why?" Draco demanded. "You can't use your magic here--"

"It has to be me," I repeated patiently.

"_Why_?"

"Because," I said simply. "I have the blessing of the gods. They will protect me, Draco. Have a little faith."

"Faith is just another word for complacence," Draco said stubbornly.

"Hermes will be right beside me," I continued soothingly. "He guides the dead to the Underworld; he can guide me, too."

"This is ridiculous."

"This is necessary."

Draco sighed. "I don't have a say in this, do I?"

"No," I said with a small smile.

"You promised to do as I say while we're in England."

"Extenuating circumstances."

"You're sure you want to do this?" Draco held my hand gently and ran a thumb over my knuckles in a rare display of affection in public. "You're absolutely certain."

"Yes, Draco," I said, letting my hand slide over my belly. "I want us to go home. All of us."

I felt a brief pang of guilt at using the baby as leverage. I wanted to go home with Draco—just Draco. But it worked. He sighed and sat back, still holding my hand.

"Alright," he said, shoulders slumping in defeat. "But we are not going to engage in any Potter-esque hero stunts. We get in, find someplace to hide until Ari comes out, and we get out of there."

"Excuse me," said an accented voice from the door. "I could not 'elp but ovair-hear..."

"Yes, you could, Gabrielle," I said, but smiled. "Come in."

"I want to go," she said, closing the door behind her. "I can 'elp you."

"I don't think so, Gee," Potter said gently, with the tolerant air of an older brother. "Your sister would hex us into oblivion and then where would the wizarding world be?"

"Zen she will not find out," Gabrielle purred.

Suddenly every male in the room became attuned to her. Gabrielle glided over to Potter, hips swaying gently. His eyes went blank and dopey, like a golden retriever's. Draco, I was happy to note, appeared to be merely intensely interested in the proceedings rather than obsessed and gooey-eyed like Christo. Weasley, too, seemed to have a bit of immunity. I noticed he was seated very close to Granger.

"Gabrielle, stop it," Granger said sharply. As Christo and Potter blinked confusedly, she explained, "Gabrielle's grandmother was a veela."

"So she told me," I muttered. It still rankled a little bit.

"You see?" Gabrielle declared. "I can make a distraction. Zey will not know what hit zem."

"Gee-gee, we appreciate the thought," Weasley said. "But it's just too dangerous."

"_I_ would not be in any dangair," she said impatiently, and began to sniffle. "Oh, please, _monsieur,_ I 'ave lost my way. . .I am trying to find my muzzer. . . I lure him into a...how do you say...broom closet, then, _voila_! I 'ex him and we move on."

"It would save time and energy," Draco admitted. "We can't have bodies lying about and it would take time to move them ourselves."

"Malfoy, do you remember Fleur Delacour?" Potter asked. "She was selected for the Triwizard Tournament for a reason."

"Yeah," Weasley agreed. "She's no pixie."

"Neizzer am I," Gabrielle insisted. "I am coming."

"Gee, no," Potter said.

"I'll tell your muzzer," Gabrielle threatened. "You are afraid of my sister? Hah! You are afraid of _Madame_ Weasley more."

"She's right, mate," Weasley said ruefully. "Mum would go ballistic."

"Argh," Potter said, rubbing his forehead. "Talk about a rock and a hard place. Alright. But I swear, Gabrielle, if Fleur _or_ Molly finds out, I'm blaming it entirely on you."

"Not that that will help much," Granger snorted.

"Still, it's something," Potter sighed. "Alright. When are we going to do this?"

"The sooner the better," I said. "I want to get it over with."

"This weekend?"

"Oh, no," I said quickly. "Sorry, I forgot. We're having a track meet this Saturday." Everyone stared at me. "What? My students have been looking forward to this for weeks. Don't you think it would be just a little suspicious if I canceled it at the last minute? Besides, _I_'ve been looking forward to it for weeks, too."

"Alright, then, the weekend after," Granger said. "That's just as well. We'll have more time to prepare. How do we get into the Ministry?"

"I know a way in," Draco said. "I don't think anyone else knows about it..."

We spent the next two hours hammering out a rough plan. Throughout the whole thing, I felt curiously detached, as if I wasn't actually going to do it. I felt like I was planning for something else. It helped. A little.

When we had a basic idea of what we were going to do, we decided to call it a day because no one could think straight anymore and we were all biting each others' heads off. Christo left for wherever he and the others were staying and Draco and I went for a walk around the grounds. We stopped by a large white coffin that I had come across before.

"Who's in there?" I asked, touching the cool stone lightly.

"Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School. A great wizard," Draco said heavily. "And a great man. He and Severus saved my life."

"What happened?" I asked tentatively.

"When I was sixteen, the Dark Lord ordered me to kill Dumbledore," Draco said. "It was futile—a suicide mission. The Dark Lord himself hadn't succeeded. My mother went to Severus, who was a double agent for Dumbledore at the time, and asked him for help. He made an Unbreakable Vow to protect me and carry out my mission if I should fail. Dumbledore knew that I had orders to kill him and willingly gave his life so I could keep mine. And Severus gave up any hope of freedom from the Dark Lord. Even if Potter succeeds in killing him, the Order of the Phoenix will never forgive Severus' 'betrayal'. He'll be branded a criminal and a traitor."

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

"Can't you see why I don't want you involved in this?" Draco asked earnestly, taking my hands. "There's danger on both sides—everywhere we turn."

"Draco, that's exactly _why_ I have to do this," I said. "This whole situation sucks, I know. It's dangerous. I know that, too. And the sooner it ends, the sooner we can go home and live our lives. You would do anything to keep me safe, so stop being an overprotective, chauvinistic pig and let me do the same for you."

Draco laughed softly and held me against his chest. "You were always a stubborn, cheeky, rotten little sod. Right from the start."

"Were you hoping I would change?"

"Not in a million years."

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The morning of Hogwarts' first ever track meet dawned bright and clear. Despite everything, I was excited. I didn't think about the fact that I was pregnant or that I was going to die in a weeks time. Well, sort of. All I thought about was the prospect of a race.

Several races, in fact. I had nearly fifty competitors; word had spread and there turned out to be quite a lot of athletes at Hogwarts—in fact, about a third of the school. And, since everyone agreed that it wouldn't be fair for me to race against girls who were supposedly younger than me, I was going to race against the boys in the high hurtles and the four-hundred hurtles. I could win those: only a few of the boys had ever run hurtles before. I could run the four-hundred, but I didn't have any advantage there. Hey, if I was going to race, I wanted to win.

I warmed up with the girls and led them in some stretches as students and teachers trickled into the stands. I noticed a few people I had never seen before. Perhaps they were family members of the students. I searched the stands and smiled when I spotted Draco. He was leaning against the bench behind him, speaking with a truly repulsive man with a wooden leg. I thought Draco looked kind of uncomfortable. I would be, too. The man's face was oddly distorted and one eye seemed bigger than the other, though I couldn't see why from so far away.

"Professor Malcolm," one of my students asked, drawing my attention back to the meet. "How many jumps do I get in the triple jump?"

"Four," I told her.

"What are the starting commands again?" someone else asked.

"On your mark, get set, and the gun," I said patiently. "Or wand, in this case."

The meet seemed to go smoothly. I had convinced several teachers to act as officials and score-keepers. I had a great time cheering my students on and racing myself. When it came time for my first race, I was surprised at how nervous I was. It was just another race, I told myself. Against boys, yes, but boys who had never run hurtles before and for whom tripping and falling flat on their faces was a distinct possibility.

Then the gun—wand—went off with a bang and I was out of the starting blocks and over the first hurtle almost before I realized it. After that, all thoughts disappeared as I moved smoothly around the track and over the hurtles. Unsurprisingly, I won. One boy almost beat me simply because his legs were about as long as my body, but he had about three feet of air between his legs and the hurtle when he jumped, so he lost a lot of time.

The high hurtles were easier for me to win because there were more hurtles and less space in between, making it more difficult for the inexperienced boys. Maybe it's petty, but it felt good to win. I missed competition. I felt a twinge of regret when I got my times—I'd broken my records from the previous year. If I were still in high school...I put it out of my mind. There was no use dwelling on what might have been.

After the meet--which was a huge success—Granger and Draco came to find me. Granger looked flustered and Draco looked suspiciously blank. Had they been fighting about something? If so, why come to me?

"Professor Malcolm," Granger said, in deference to the students who were still milling about. "I was wondering if you would join me for lunch."

"Sure," I said. "After I take a shower."

"Alright, then," she said, shooting a disgruntled look at Draco. "In an hour?"

"That's fine," I replied, and she walked away. I asked Draco, "What was that all about?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Draco said grimly. Suddenly he grinned. "I had no idea you were so fast."

"I've been running so much lately, it was bound to pay off," I said with a shrug, but I smiled. "It felt good. The race, I mean."

"Running the race or winning the race?" Draco inquired as we headed back up to the castle.

"Both," I said. "I wish I could do it again."

"What, now?"

"Yes!" I bounced up and down restlessly. "In fact, I think I will."

I ran down the runway toward the school, flying effortlessly over the hurtles. Granger hurried over, looking annoyed.

"You're starting to act your age, if you know what I mean," she hissed in my ear. "Get a grip!"

That dampened my mood considerably. I glared after her as she flounced off, thinking very uncomplimentary things about her. We got along, for the most part, but she was still a bossy, self-righteous know-it-all. And a killjoy. What I hated most was that she was right. I wasn't allowed to act like a teenager anymore.

"Did you lose against yourself?" Draco joked, coming up behind me. "What's with the face?"

"Nothing," I muttered. "Let's go."

"Is it because of the baby? Mother told me once that--"

"It's nothing," I snapped, and stalked ahead.

I heard Draco mutter something under his breath, but he didn't press me. He walked me back to our rooms and kissed me good-bye, saying that he had to go with Moody—the creepy man he was talking with in the stands—to do something sneaky and mysterious for the Order. I took a shower and tried to relax. When I was as close to relaxed as possible, I dressed and headed up to the Room of Requirement to meet Granger. She was already there, of course.

"What's up?" I asked wearily.

"I need you to do something," Granger said. "For our mission."

Suddenly the theme to Mission: Impossible started running through my head.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked, shaking my head slightly to clear it.

"Well," Granger said, "I need you to go shopping with me."

I, of course, am always up for a shopping expedition. Not that this was just a trip to the mall, mind you. We needed to go to a store called 'Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes', which was a joke shop but had some things that would be very useful to us. When I asked, she told me that it was owned by her friend's older brothers. There were nine Weasleys, apparently. The parents, six boys, and one girl, who was engaged to Potter. The oldest was married to Gabrielle's sister, which explained the familiar way they treated Gabrielle. They were all in the Order except for Percival Weasley, the Minister of Magic. It brought the Mafia to mind very strongly and vividly.

"Fred and George are really very clever," Granger said. "And very good at what they do. They sell jokes, mainly, but also defensive items like Shield Hats and Shield Cloaks and defensive charms and such. I want to get some jokes as well, however."

"Why?" I asked, frowning.

"Their patented day dreams, for instance," Granger said, "will incapacitate anyone we come across for thirty minutes and no one will know. They're meant for students who don't want to pay attention in class, you see. Virtually undetectable."

"I like it," I said approvingly. "Why do you need me, though?"

"Ron and Harry and I already have Shield Cloaks and hats and such," Hermione explained. "And we're family—there's no reason for any of us to actually go to the shop and buy them. But for a colleague who can't do magic, a box of Instant Darkness Powder and some Decoy Detonators and a Shield Cloak would definitely be worth a trip to London. And if you happen to see some jokes you like, well..."

"I see," I said. "Well, I've never said no to shopping. When do we leave?"

"Are you free now?"

"Sure."

We walked down to the gates and stepped outside so we could Apparate—or, rather, so Granger could Apparate while I grasped her arm. We found ourselves in an alleyway next to some garbage cans. Granger tapped a brick with her wand and the wall opened up to reveal Diagon Alley.

Granger lead me quickly down the street to a shop with all sorts of interesting things. I stopped to stare at some bouncing fuzz-balls that squeaked and chittered like little animals. I reached in to touch one and squeaked myself when a long tongue wrapped around my finger.

"Pygmy Puffs," Granger said, smiling. "They're sweet, aren't they?"

"Are they—alive?" I asked dubiously.

"Oh, yes, they make wonderful pets," Granger told me. "Well, for children, anyway. They like to sneak up on wizards while they're sleeping and stick their tongues up—oh, hello, George."

"Hey, Hermione," said a cheerful looking man with red hair and freckles. He wasn't as tall as his younger brother. "What brings you all the way from Hogwarts?"

"Why don't we talk in the back?" Granger suggested.

"Sure," George Weasley said, giving her a curious look. Once we were settled in the roomy office, he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, precisely," Granger said. "It's only that Mrs. Malcolm here took a position at Hogwarts about a month ago as the Muggle Studies Professor and--"

"Wait one bleeding minute," Weasley said. "Malcolm? As in the evil git formerly known as Malfoy? That Malcolm?"

"I'm married to Draco Malfoy, yes," I said, giving him my most charming smile. "He said Hogwarts was the safest place in Britain so he took me there."

"But Mrs. _Malcolm_ isn't exactly a witch," Granger continued, glaring sternly at him. "We thought it would be a good idea to get her some of your defense products. Just in case."

"What do you mean, not exactly a witch?" Weasley asked suspiciously. "Is she a Squib? Malfoy wouldn't marry a Squib."

"I can do a few little things, like move objects without touching them and set things on fire," I explained, keeping my growing dislike of him out of my voice. "But not much else. I was raised a Muggle and discovered I had some magical ability a few months ago."

"Malfoy—alright, Hermione, _Malcolm—_married a Muggle? I find that hard to believe," Weasley snorted. "Bigoted prick."

"I don't," I said, admiring the ring on my finger. "Isn't it a lovely ring? It was his mother's you know. He went all the way to London from Greece to get it. He's such a gentleman."

I looked Weasley over critically, my pointed gaze implying that _he_ was anything but. And he was.

"If he's such a gentleman, why can't he get your stuff himself?"

"Well, he _is _supposed to have died over a month ago," I said sweetly. "He can't very well walk around London in broad daylight, can he?"

Weasley glared at me. "Well then, Mrs. _Malcolm, _let's see what we can do for you, since your husband apparently can't come out of hiding long enough to look after you himself. Just like Malfoy—what kind of man would let his wife walk around unprotected--"

"Oh, my husband is more than capable, Mr. Weasley," I assured him earnestly. "But he's just so busy—you know, working for the Order."

Weasley gave me a dirty look.

"Er, where's Fred?" Hermione asked quickly.

"Out with Angelina," George said shortly. "Here—our new Defense Kit. Includes a Shield Cloak, Shield Hat, Shield Gloves, five Decoy Detonators, two boxes of Instant Darkness Powder, and one Screaming Alarm—just squeeze it and it'll shout for help. Thirty Galleons."

"George!" Granger said severely.

"Alright, twenty," George muttered.

"Wait, I wanted a few of those Day Dreams," I said. "My cousin will love those."

"Fine, fine, get what you need," Weasley said, and stalked over to the counter.

"How many?" I murmured to Granger.

"Five or six should do it," she whispered back. "I'm sorry about George—they can be so _rude_ sometimes."

I shrugged. "I've met worse."

We paid for the stuff and were just about to exit the shop when a very angry-looking redhead stormed in. Granger and I moved hastily out of the way as she stomped over to the counter and slammed what looked like a Whoopee-cushion down in front of him.

"Well?" she snarled, making Weasley recoil.

"Hey, Gin," he said, with an attempt at a cheery smile. "How's everything?"

"You bloody pillock!" she shouted. "I was in a meeting with Samuel Sleekeasy. He was going to buy my product!"

"Oh," Weasley said weakly, looking like he wanted very much to cower. "Well, actually, it was Fred who--"

The girl screamed something and suddenly huge, vicious looking bats attacked Weasley, who shouted and tried to simultaneously protect himself and explain to the offended party. I wasn't sure what he was trying to explain, exactly. She continued to scream what sounded like a mixture of insults and spells at him. Granger and I beat a hasty retreat and I cast an apprehensive look over my shoulder.

"That's Ginny Weasley," Granger said.

"You mean..."

"Yep." We stopped and looked back through the window to see Ginny hurling things at her brother. "Harry's fiancée."

"Oh. Wow."

We turned to leave and were almost to the end of the street when a shout made us stop.

"Hi, Hermione," Ginny said, now fairly calm. "Are you going back to the school?"

"Yes," Granger answered. "Let's talk there—we shouldn't hang about here in the street."

"You're right," Ginny said, and disappeared.

Granger extended her arm to me and we followed Ginny. She was waiting for us in front of the gates. Granger gestured to me a little awkwardly.

"Er—Ginny, this is Alexandra Malcolm, our new Muggle Studies professor."

"Ah," Ginny said, sticking her hand out. "_David_'s wife. I've been hoping to meet you. Anyone willing to marry him is worth meeting, in my opinion."

"I could say the same of anyone willing to marry Potter," I returned with a smile, and shook the offered hand.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I wonder myself."

I decided I liked Ginny Weasley.

"Aren't you his cousin?" Ginny continued as we walked up to the school. "That must be weird, suddenly finding out you have a cousin that you never knew about."

"You'd be surprised," I murmured. "You can get used to anything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I was shocked at how easily I responded to her promptings and mental pokes and prods. I ended up telling her all about Kallias and Vouna and the Sirens and even about Bellum. Maybe I was lonelier than I thought or maybe she just had a knack for extracting information. By the time we reached the castle, she probably knew more about what I'd been up to than Granger, who I'd been working with for over a month.

"Let's go up to your rooms, shall we?" Ginny suggested. "I have something I want to talk to you about."

"Is something wrong?" Granger asked worriedly as Ginny led us unerringly through the twisty corridors.

"Oh, no, I just thought you wouldn't want to discuss our little field trip in the middle of the corridor."

"What—_our_?--how did you--"

Granger continued to sputter indignantly all the way to her rooms, while Ginny regaled me with the story behind her attempted fratricide. Her brother had apparently thought it would be amusing to stick a Stealthy Stinker (an invisible whoopee cushion that simulated not only the sound of a fart but the smell as well) on the seat of her pants right before she went to a business meeting. (Ginny developed hair products)

"_How _did you find out?" Hermione demanded once we were all safely inside.

"Oh, please," Ginny scoffed. "Am I completely oblivious? I know when something is up. And I want in. Whatever it is, I'm not letting you lot do it by yourselves."

"You'll have to take it up with Harry," Granger said. "Gabrielle already wormed her way in, and he's not happy about it."

"Well, then, I'm in already, aren't I?" Ginny said cheerfully. "So, what's going on?"

Granger opened her moth to protest, but Ginny interrupted her.

"No, no, I mean what's been happening in your life? Honestly, Hermione. We _are_ friends, aren't we?"

What followed was possibly the most bizarre conversation I've ever had. And that's saying something. But what made it weirder was that the conversation itself was completely normal. It was just that it seemed—well, weird—to be having a normal conversation about guys and clothes and hair and what I liked to do in my free time and what my family was like when in a week's time I would be descending into the Underworld. If we managed to get past god-only-knew how many wizards and enchantments and other magical surprises, of course. And let's not forget that I was going to the Underworld to strike a bargain with the god of death in hopes of destroying a magical Tupperware container for an evil wizard's soul.

If I've learned anything since I was bitten, it's that the term 'normal' is relative.

The next morning, I spotted Ginny sitting with Potter and Granger, looking very smug. Potter looked sulky but resigned. I smirked. I did like Ginny. I was about to take an empty seat at the end of the table, but Ginny waved me over and indicated a seat next to her.

"Sit," she said. "I want to hear more about Sebastian Grey. He financed Death Eater activities, you said? How?"

"Ah, that's not really something we should talk about here," I said.

"_Parlaiz-vous Francais?_" Ginny asked.

"_Tres bien,"_ I replied, startled.

Ginny gave me a look that said, Well? Get on with it. So I told her about the brothel and how I met Gabrielle and found the Horcrux—if she was coming, she knew about everything, including the gods. Because I was a virgin when it happened, this led to a discussion about Draco and when I had married him and how long I had known him and didn't we kind of rush into it a little? And she had heard some girls talking about how I was pregnant and was it true? I barely kept up with the barrage of questions and was surprised once more surprised at how freely I confided in her. Maybe it was because she didn't give me a chance to think about it.

Ginny stayed for a couple of days and even joined in on a soccer game. (We had started having pick up games a few times a week—wizarding life is all well and good, but it tends to produce very frustrated soccer players.) I had reservations about letting her play; she was petite and pixie-like and while I knew she didn't let anyone push her around verbally, I couldn't help but think that a strong breeze would knock her over. I needn't have worried. Ginny might not have been very strong, but she was quick and wasn't afraid to play dirty. She wasn't a very good soccer player—to be quite honest, she was crap—but she tried hard and laughed a lot and the kids—students, I mean—loved her. Especially the boys.

When Ginny left, I found myself laughing a lot less. Especially when Draco informed me that there was an Order-related emergency and that Granger and Potter and several other Order members were needed. Not only would our 'field trip' be postponed, the school would be left with only a few Order members to protect it. And these Order members included McGonagall, the Headmistress, Hagrid, the half-giant who technically wasn't allowed to work magic, Professor Flitwick, who came up to my waist, and a strange person called Luna Lovegood, who was going to help cover Potter's and Granger's classes.

Before they left, Potter took me aside and asked for a private word. I hesitated, then agreed. What harm could it do? I didn't like him very much, but he wasn't a bad person. He wouldn't try anything. He drew me into an empty classroom and stood there for a minute, fidgeting.

"Well?" I prompted him.

"I want to go with you," he blurted. "Through the veil."

"I thought we'd been through this," I said exasperatedly. "Look, you don't have to prove anything--"

"That's not it at all," he cried, pacing back and forth. "It's—it's just personal."

"I'm sorry," I said firmly. "You can't. I can go because I have the gods' blessing. You could end up trapped—and then who would kill Voldemort?"

"I'm not the only one who can kill Voldemort," he snapped. "The prophecy doesn't really mean anything—anyone could kill Voldemort, it's just more likely that _I_ will because—oh, it's too hard to explain."

"You can't go," I repeated. "If you go through the archway, it is extremely unlikely that you would come out again."

"But--"

"No. End of discussion." I looked at him sternly. "Any more out of you and I'm telling Ginny."

Potter finally subsided and they all left. Although Draco had assured me repeatedly that the school was a veritable fortress, I couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to convince himself as well as me. I bid him good-bye for what seemed like the hundredth time and went to bed feeling very small and frightened. I hadn't said anything to Draco or Granger because it wasn't my place, but I had a horrible feeling about all this. I mean, how convenient was it that something suddenly came up that left the school with only four Order members to protect it? Didn't that scream, "Trap!" to anyone else?

I was not at all pleased to find my fears were justified the next morning. I was having breakfast and listening in dumbstruck silence to Professor Lovegood's dire warning not to eat the hard-boiled eggs because they were actually dragon eggs and would hatch in my stomach if I at them when suddenly a ghost zoomed through the wall, bellowing. It took me a moment to work out what he was saying.

"Intruders! Intruders on the Astronomy Tower!"

Then a young girl ran into the Hall, shrieking, "They've killed Thomas! They've killed Thomas! In the dungeons! They're here!"

There was an instant uproar. Everywhere, students were running about and shrieking and screaming but doing absolutely nothing. Hagrid stood on the table, which creaked under his weight, and bellowed for silence. The sudden contrast was shocking. Then the doors slammed shut, making everyone jump.

"Everyone, please divide into your Houses and see if anyone is missing," McGonagall said calmly. "When you have done that, one person from each House please come see me. Quickly, now."

The students rushed to do as she said and McGonagall turned to the teachers.

"There is a passage behind the Hogwarts tapestry," she told us. "It leads to a cavern beneath the school. Horace, I need you and Professor Malcolm to lead the children there and make sure they stay put. Luna, contact Harry and let him know that we have a problem."

I was quite alright with this plan, as it placed me well away from danger. At least, I _was_ happy with this plan until the representative from Ravenclaw came forward and said that Gabrielle was missing. My stomach turned to ice. McGonagall will find her, I assured myself. Or Hagrid. Or that Luna person. Everything will be fine. Just do what McGonagall told you to do.

I argued with myself as McGonagall continued her head count. McGonagall looked like she knew what she was doing. But—the fact is, if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself. And the other teachers would have enough on their hands. They needed all the help they could get. They all thought I was a Muggle; that's why they were so willing to let me babysit. There was a time when I would have let them think so. I would have let them think whatever they wanted as long as I didn't have to put my neck on the line.

But since then, I had been deceived, kidnapped, incarcerated in a whorehouse, and attacked repeatedly. Quite frankly, I had very little faith in other people's ability to protect me. The only person I really trusted to do that wasn't here, so it looked like I would have to do it myself. Protect myself _and_ Gabrielle. And besides, it wasn't like I was _completely_ helpless.

I followed Slughorn obediently through the tapestry and brought up the end of the precession. As soon as the last student was around a bend in the tunnel, I kicked off my heeled shoes, shed my robes, and sprinted back. The Hall was deserted, but I could hear shouts and crashes coming from within the castle.

I changed in a blink of an eye and then changed back just as quickly. If I bit people, they would be werewolves, too. And more useful to Voldemort, perhaps. The realization that I couldn't change to defend myself almost made me reconsider my decision to find Gabrielle myself, but I steeled myself and took a deep breath before darting out of the Hall.

The corridor was eerily deserted. I hadn't expected an all-out battle right outside the door, exactly, but the emptiness was unnerving. I changed and sniffed frantically all around the corridor. There were so many scents—where was Gabrielle's? Aha! Got it. I changed back, but let my ears grow enough to allow me to move them in different directions and elongated my fingers into claws. Just in case.

Now that I had Gabrielle's scent, I could follow it with my enhanced human nose. My sense of smell wasn't quite as good as a human as it was as a wolf, but it would get the job done. I jogged through the corridors, following Gabrielle's scent. It was getting stronger. Then it was joined by another...it was human, but it had a hint of wolfishness about it. A werewolf, then. Like me.

I changed. If he—now I could smell that it was a he—was already a werewolf, then I didn't have to worry about biting him. And I had a feeling I would probably have to bite him. Or worse.

I paused briefly to sniff at a few splattered drops of blood. It was the werewolf's. Go Gabrielle. There were more drops of blood leading down the corridor like a trail of cookie crumbs. As I continued, it got thicker. Now I could hear sounds of a struggle coming from an empty classroom at the end of the corridor and Gabrielle shrieking curses—both literal and figurative—at her attacker. I heard her scream in fear and ran as fast as I could.

I burst in and launched myself at the figure crouched over Gabrielle without thinking twice. I glimpsed a filthy, blood-smeared face drawn back in a snarl before I caught the werewolf's neck in my jaws and let my momentum help me drag him off of her. I heard a dull snap as we landed and the body convulsed once before going limp and still. The part of me that was a wolf was grimly pleased at a quick, efficient kill. The human part of me was merely relieved. He had not killed Gabrielle. Who, incidentally, was scrambling for her wand.

I changed back and yelled, "Hey! Whoa, hold on, it's me!"

"Ari," she breathed, closing her eyes. "I forgot--I thought--"

"Never mind," I said urgently. In French, I added, "Are you hurt?"

"No," she said shakily. "The blood was his. I got him a few times before he knocked me down."

"Come on," I said, helping her to her feet. "There's a passageway out of the castle—the rest of the students are already gone."

We made our way back to the Great Hall as quickly as we could, but we had to stop several times to hide from Death Eaters. A few times, Gabrielle hit them with some sort of paralyzing spell that allowed us to get safely by them. We finally made it to the Great Hall and I ran over to the tapestry, looking for the passageway. It wasn't there.

"I don't understand," I cried. "It was here."

"There's probably and enchantment on it," Gabrielle said. "We need to find another way out."

"Well, we can't go outside," I said. "They'll have an open shot at us."

"Let's fight," Gabrielle said, eyes burning. "We can't run—we can probably hide, but they'll find us eventually. We can help."

"Speak for yourself," I retorted. "All I can do is set things on fire and move stuff. I mean, if I had gunpowder or something...that's it! Let's go!"

"Where are we going?" Gabrielle demanded, following me at a sprint through the halls.

"The Room of Requirement," I panted. "Hurry."

We made it with mercifully few delays and I darted up and down the corridor three times, thinking, _I need Greek Fire. I need a bow and arrows. I need something to wear that I can move and run in._ The door appeared and I shoved Gabrielle inside before entering myself and slamming the door shut behind me.

"What are these?" Gabrielle asked, looking around at the pots that lined the shelves. "The bows and arrows I understand, but what's in the pots?"

"Greek Fire," I said. "It'll keep burning, even when you pour water on it. In fact, water makes it worse. It's a good thing this room provides whatever you need, because the recipe has been lost for centuries. Put those clothes on and find some sneakers that fit. You can't fight in a skirt."

I hastily pulled on a pair of soccer shorts, a tee shirt, and sneakers. I grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows and offered another to Gabrielle, who shook her head and raised her wand. I opened one of the pots and carefully dipped all of the arrows in it. I found a bag and filled it with as many of the small, tightly sealed containers as I could.

"Alright," I said, heart pounding, "let's go."

I pricked my ears and followed the loudest sounds of fighting. It seemed to be coming from the dungeons. Gabrielle and I hurried along the corridors with wand and bow at the ready. The pouch of bombs hung from a length of rope I'd tied around my waist.

The main battle was taking place in a large chamber in the dungeons with smaller fights out in the corridor. I picked off three Death Eaters with my ignited arrows before the others noticed and turned their wands toward me. A centaur took this opportunity to kick him in the head. Gabrielle got one and one of the Professors dealt with the other. I ran lightly down the stairs and dragged the teacher away from the flames.

"Whatever you do, don't get near it, and don't try to put it out with water," I said. "You have to get all of our people out of that room."

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her tone hovering between scorn and fear.

"Forget it," I snapped, and stuck my head in the door. I took a deep breath and bellowed, "Professor McGonagall! Get them out of there! Now!"

I took a bomb out of my pouch and hurled it against the opposite wall, where it burst into flame. The teachers—along with some Death Eaters—made a dash for the door. I stood my ground and hurled another at an approaching Death Eater. He screamed in fear and pain and fell to the floor, thrashing madly. I was dimly aware of Gabrielle at my side, shouting spells; covering our people's retreat. Once all of ours—all three of them—were out, I tossed a handful in the Death Eaters' faces and lit them on fire. As they shrieked and flailed about, I slammed the door closed.

"Lock it," I barked.

Gabrielle obliged, looking pale. McGonagall gasped and leaned against the wall, staring at me.

"Why aren't you with the students?" she demanded. "I said quite clearly--"

"Why don't we pretend that you were just thanking me for saving your life," I suggested acidly. "Why, you're very welcome, it was my pleasure. And your passageway locked behind me, by the way. I couldn't get Gabrielle back in."

"Yes," McGonagall said vaguely. "The other students are in my office—take Gabrielle there now. The password is Telemann."

"Here, take these," I said, shoving the bag at her. "Just throw them and ignite. Don't let any of it get on you. It's Greek Fire."

"_What?_"

But we were gone, running up the stairs and heading for the Headmistress's office on the fifth floor. Gabrielle knew of a short cut, but there was still a long way to go. We were struggling to sprint up the last flight of stairs when something knocked me down from behind. I looked over my shoulder and felt my heart stop.

"Go!" I shouted at Gabrielle. "It's me he wants—go!"

Gabrielle hesitated a moment, then turned and ran. I rolled over and faced Bellum, who had a crazed, excited look on his face.

"My dear, where _have_ you been?" he drawled. "I have been searching high and low for you. I have been _so_ worried."

"Oh, were you?" I sneered, holding up my left hand. "So sorry. I'm already taken."

"You are mine," he snarled. his face contorting. "_Mine_. I was promised a reward. I will find a way—I will break the enchantment--"

"Well, you're welcome to try," I said pleasantly, trying to buy Gabrielle more time. "But I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you."

"Silence," he hissed, pointing his wand at me. I tried to speak and couldn't. My mouth and throat worked, but no sound came out. Bellum smirked unpleasantly. "And now, my little wolfling, it is time to go to sleep. _Stupefy!_"

While it is true that it is a ridiculous-sounding spell, it unfortunately works very well. All I saw was a flash of red light and then nothing.

Nothing but black.

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oh, dear. What's Bellum going to do with her? """wiggles eyebrows""""


	16. Hell Hath No Fury Like a Woman

I got four reviews for the last chapter, people. I'm only updating after such an inadequate crop because I'm leaving on Friday to go to school and I want it all up by then. So REVIEW! You have no idea how ridiculously happy it makes me.

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The last time I was knocked unconscious with magic, I awoke to find myself in a comfortable bed—granted, it was a bed in a whorehouse and I was wearing nothing but an extremely short, extremely see-through white dress, but it was a bed. It was a very nice bed, in fact, and the memory of it was enhanced by my present circumstances. You see, this time, I awoke not in a bed at all but in a puddle of chilly water.

And I was wearing nothing at all.

I raised my head and looked around. I was in a cell. A dank, dark, dingy cell. Not entirely unfamiliar. I might have been in the Hogwarts dungeons if it weren't for the grungy, nasty, starved specimens of humanity locked in the cell opposite me. By the way they were staring at me, I rather thought that they weren't hungering only for food. I ignored them. There were two sets of bars and a powerful enchantment between me and them.

With a groan, I pushed myself up and discovered that there were silver cuffs around my wrists. Shackles made sense, I suppose, but these shackles weren't attached to anything. They looked like bracelets. I sat with my legs crossed and stared at them, frowning in puzzlement. Then I shrugged. They would slip right off once I changed.

Nothing happened.

I tried again. Nothing. And again. And again and again and again. A big, fat load of nothing. But silver didn't affect me—I was super-wolf or something, wasn't I? But wait—I knew silver didn't hurt me. That didn't mean it didn't affect me. I couldn't remember silver ever preventing me from changing, but I couldn't remember ever needing to change while wearing silver, either. I didn't wear it that often; gold looked better on me.

"Something wrong, dear?" a woman's voice asked.

I whipped around and nearly fell over. It was the nurse who had asked me all those dumb questions when I was in the hospital after I was bitten. Susan—no, Sally. That was it.

"You!" I cried in shock. "What--"

"What seems to be the problem?" Sally asked with mocking solicitousness. "Headache? Dizziness? Inability to perform magic?"

"You were the spider," I said accusingly. "You sold me out to Voldemort."

"For a handsome price," Sally agreed. She added, "It wasn't money they offered me, you know. Oh, no—I wanted something else. Something more."

"And what was that?" I sneered, though I was curious in spite of myself. "A new haircut? You need one, sweet-heart."

"The chance to kill that overgrown lawn gnome, Dr. Stanley," she said with an ugly smile. "How I enjoyed that moment. Well, several moments, actually. But then I was rudely interrupted by a bunch of upstart children. I had so wanted to see him die. I wanted--"

"You _bitch_," I snarled, and launched myself at her.

She disappeared and a spider scuttled away. I scrambled after her on my hands and knees, but was brought up short when a shiny, polished boot came into view as it crushed the spider mercilessly. I looked up and felt my chest constrict with fear.

"I thought so," Bellum commented, looking down at me. "Silver doesn't hurt you, but it does take away your ability to change. How unfortunate."

"What do you want?" I spat.

"Oh, let's not be coy," he admonished me. "You know exactly what I want."

"I also know you can't have it even if I were willing to give it," I snapped. "You can't get around the ring's magic. You can't break the enchantment."

"You seem very sure of that," Bellum commented. "Do you know something about wizarding marriage rings that I don't?"

"Don't be an idiot," I scoffed. "I didn't even know wizards existed until a few months ago."

"But you learn very quickly," he said. "I know that. I observed you for some time—ever since it became clear that Draco Malfoy was becoming too attached to you and the Dark Lord approved me for your mate. Oh, yes, my dear, you learn _very_ quickly. What have you learned about your ring?"

"Nothing you don't already know," I insisted. "You're wasting your time, Bellum."

"Am I?" he asked softly. "_Crucio_!"

The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before. It was as if every nerve in my body was on fire. Like every bone was breaking—every muscle, every tendon tearing apart. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't—my jaw locked and the muscles in my throat seemed to have frozen. All that came out was a frantic, high-pitched moan.

And then the pain stopped. I lay still, panting. I bit back a groan and made myself stand up. I faced Bellum directly. I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed by my nakedness. I had a beautiful body and I knew he couldn't touch it. I wanted to taunt him. You might be thinking that this was a dumb move, and you are absolutely right. It was an extremely dumb move. But I was pissed. I hadn't liked it when Draco messed with my head and I didn't like this bastard messing with it, either.

"You know," I said casually, running a hand over my hip. "I was a virgin on my wedding night." A muscle in his cheek began to twitch. "I was saving myself until I found a man good enough for me. I'm used to having the best, Mr. Bellum. And now I do. Draco is all any woman could hope for. Young, handsome, strong. . .virile." Twitch, twitch. His face was going gray. "I'm carrying his child, did you know that? I--"

"_CRUCIO_!"Bellum roared. "_Crucio! Crucio!"_

Yeah. Yeah, it was a bad move. I had thought that, having felt it once, it wouldn't be so bad the second time. Or that I would be somewhat prepared for it, at least. No. It was, if possible, even worse the second time. This time, I did scream. I was dimly aware that I was on the ground again, jerking uncontrollably. I had to tell him something—anything—whatever it took to make the pain go away.

"Alright!" I yelled. "Alright, I'll tell you!"

The pain went away.

"I knew you'd come to your senses," Bellum said, suddenly calm again. "So?"

"We—we swore an oath," I said shakily. "An unbreakable oath."

"And the relevance of this is..."

"We swore on the river Styx," I said, thinking quickly. "To undo it, I would have to petition Hades himself."

"How does this help me? That is impossible. Insolent wretch," Bellum snarled, and raised his wand.

"No! No, please wait," I cried desperately. "We found a way in—me and Granger. It's in the Department of Mysteries."

"If you are lying..." Bellum said dangerously. "I can torture you for a week before you go insane. _Leglimens."_

Images came to my mind before I realized what was happening. I heard the oath I swore and heard Draco's oath in return. I saw Granger's face when she realized where the entrance was. Then I realized what Bellum was up to and pushed him out of my mind. Keeping my thoughts carefully blank, I glared at him.

"Satisfied?"

"Quite," Bellum replied smoothly, and tossed me a bundle of white robes. "We are going to the Ministry."

"I suppose we're just going to walk in there and no one is going to stop us," I remarked, pulling the robes over my head. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Yes. That is exactly what we are doing."

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I was not impressed by the Ministry of Magic. Security was a joke. A sham. A tea party. I don't know what we were so worried about when we were planning how to break in. But then—to be fair, Bellum did kill rather a lot of people before they all ran away screaming. I think we were trying to avoid that.

"Where in the Department of Mysteries?" Bellum demanded.

"I—I don't know," I said. His hand tightened on my arm. "Granger had it all figured out. I just know it's a veiled archway."

"Ah, the Death Chamber...I always wondered..."

Bellum had that deranged, eager look on his face again. I shuddered. I wondered what his deal was. I mean, yes, I am pretty. But why was he so...obsessed? Surely I wasn't _that_ good looking. Maybe he was a virgin. Or maybe he was jilted by the love of his life. Maybe he was gay and wanted desperately to prove to himself that he was straight. Or maybe he was just a raving lunatic.

Who the hell was I kidding? I _was_ the sexiest girl around. Kudos to me.

This train of thought lasted me all the way to the Department of Mysteries. Bellum pushed me through first and I found myself in a circular room surrounded by doors. There must have been at least a dozen.

I hoped—really hoped—Bellum knew which one to take, because I sure as hell didn't. And the sooner we reached the Underworld, the sooner I could turn the tables on dear Ira Bellum. I felt anticipation and anger boil up inside me and pushed it back with effort. Cool head, I told myself. Keep a cool head. Revenge is a dish best served cold and all that.

"This one," Bellum said confidently, opening a door to the right. "I witnessed my father's execution in this room more than fifty years ago."

"Fascinating," I said, trying to sound bored.

"You will be my wife," he snapped. "You might as well get used to the idea."

I closed my mouth on the retort I was longing to make and stared straight ahead. There it was. The archway—and a veil fluttering gently over the entrance. Freedom. Or death. Or a little bit of both. Who knew? Would Hermes be on the other side? I hoped so.

"No worries," he said, appearing by my side. I didn't let my surprise show. "I'm here. I took the liberty of alerting your friends; they're on their way with the Horcruxes and should be here any minute. Quick, get him through the archway."

"Well? Get on with it," I spat, gesturing to the archway.

"Ladies first," Bellum sneered, and shoved me forward.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the archway to find myself on a barren plain. The ground was scattered with bones and excrement. A moment later, Bellum joined me. The first thing I did was knock him flat on his ass. It felt so good to have my magic back. It was like crawling into bed after a long day and snuggling under a thick quilt. I took a moment to revel in the sensation, then bound him with invisible threads of magic while I contemplated the silver cuffs on my wrists. I concentrated and a crack appeared in the metal. And another. And another, until the shackles fell away from my wrists.

"You," I said, turning to Bellum. "Are an idiot."

Bellum went red in the face and looked like he was about to shout something when a hefty projectile hit his head with a dull _thunk!_ and knocked him out cold. I blinked and then laughed when I saw the black helmet lying innocently on the ground next to him.

"I told them just to chuck it inside," Hermes explained, appearing beside me. "I thought you might enjoy that."

"I did," I assured him. "But what can I do with him?"

"Ariadne, you can be so dense sometimes," Hermes said, shaking his head. "Haven't you realized yet? You can do pretty much whatever you want. You have more magic than anyone has had in thousands of years. You just need to learn how to use it."

"Is that why I can't work magic outside of Greece?" I asked. "And—here, I guess."

"Basically," Hermes confirmed. "It's a trade-off. So. What do you want to do with him?"

"I want to take him with us," I said, frowning.

I thought about what I wanted and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw the results sitting before me. An action-figure size Bellum contained in a small cage made of bones. Bellum was now awake and yelling furiously, but it sounded more like a sort of outraged squeaking. I laughed. Ah, revenge. So sweet. And so deliciously chilly.

I picked up the helmet and the bracelet, which had fallen out when it hit Bellum. Hermes obligingly took the cage containing Bellum and we set off. The landscape was cold and dark and shadows seemed to swoop around like giant bats. I stayed close to Hermes as he led me confidently onward.

Soon, we came upon a large, leafless tree. Instead of leaves, it had glowing cobwebs dangling from its branches. I stopped and stared up at it, frightened but curious. Hermes tugged my arm and I reluctantly turned away from the tree.

"What was that?" I asked.

"The elm from which false dreams cling," Hermes said grimly. "Come on, it's best not to linger."

We walked for some time. My bare feet were beginning to hurt a little bit from the rough ground. It was completely silent save for my breathing. Even Bellum had shut up. The gloom was oppressive and discouraging—but then, we _were_ in the land of the dead. Or almost to the land of the dead.

"Look," I hissed, seizing Hermes' arm. "What's that up ahead."

"Unburied souls," Hermes said grimly. "It's getting to be quite a problem down here. Only the Old Folk bury their dead with tributes anymore—to pay the Boatman. Most people are buried with _something_ to offer, even if it was unintentional, but some---a growing number—are buried with next to nothing. They can't enter."

"My father—my father was buried with his baptism cross and his wedding band," I said. "Would that be enough?"

"I think so," Hermes said reassuringly. "But it looks like we'll find out in a minute."

In moments we were surrounded by people. Most were spirits, but some were shockingly solid. They begged us to show them the way out. They hadn't died—they had merely stumbled into the Underworld and couldn't enter the land of the dead. I remembered Bellum telling me that he had seen his father executed in the archway's chamber. Had those idiots been 'executing' people by sending them into the Underworld before they were dead?

We pushed our way through the spirits--literally _through_ them--trying to get to the boat. The shades whispered frantically in all different languages, plucking at my sleeves. I answered as many as I could as well as I could. I mean, French, Italian, Spanish, Greek, even Russian--I could handle those. But Chinese? Indian? German? There were thousands of people down there from all over the world. It was heartbreaking.We were about to step into Charon's boat—Hermes' presence was enough for him to waive the fees—when I heard a shout above the whispering and muttering.

"Miss! Miss, please, a moment. Please wait!"

A pale, haggard looking man with shaggy black hair and sunken eyes was pushing through the crowd. He fell to his knees grasped my hands tightly in his own. His hands were deathly cold.

"Please, I know you must have heard this a hundred times already, but I must get back," he begged, imploring me with his eyes. "I have to help my godson—Harry Potter. Please, he needs me. Harry needs me."

"I know Harry Potter," I blurted. "He's my cousin."

"Your--your cousin," the man said blankly. "How--"

"Never mind," I sighed. Suddenly a thought struck me. I showed him the bracelet. "This is one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Do you know how I can destroy it?"

"A Horcrux," the man breathed. "That holds _Voldemort's soul_?"

"A bit of it," I confirmed. "Do you have any idea how to undo the magic?"

"I don't know," the man said unhappily. "If that's really a Horcrux, then it must be destroyed before Voldemort can be killed. Oh, Harry..."

"Give it to Cerberus," an old, cracked voice interrupted. Charon grinned at me, revealing several missing teeth. "He'll eat anything."

"Will that work?" I asked dubiously.

"Oh, yes," Charon said, bobbing up and down. "Nothing can survive a trip through _his_ bowels."

"He has a point," Hermes said, looking bemused. "I think it'll work."

"What's your name?" I asked the man kneeling before me.

"Sirius Black," he told me. "I beg you—get me out of here. Harry needs me."

"If there's any way I help you, I will," I promised. I looked around at the hopeful souls surrounding me. "All of you."

Hermes helped me into the boat and I found that I was sitting with my back to the opposite shore. I had to watch that poor man's desolate yet painfully hopeful face until the gloom and mist swallowed him up. I shivered. So that's why Potter had wanted to come with me so badly. I felt a brief surge of sympathy both for Potter and his godfather. He must have been devastated. I thought about how desperate Sirius had looked, repeating over and over again that Harry needed him.

Harry needed him.

"Oh, my God," I said, jerking suddenly and nearly tipping over the boat. "He's the key. Sirius is the key."

"Oh, is he?" Hermes said, looking mildly surprised. "Well, I suppose you'd better get him out then." Hermes held up the cage and peered inside, looking Bellum over critically. "Bellum should suffice. His soul for that man's."

"An excellent idea," I said approvingly. "And fitting, too. Little pervert. I hope Hades has some juicy eternal torture for him."

Maybe I am heartless, but I had no qualms whatsoever about handing Bellum over to the god of death. Or maybe he deserved it. You decide. Bellum seemed to think I was a heartless bitch; in fact, he told me so. Several times. I ignored him and turned to see the shore looming in front of us. I heard a low, ominous growling and shivered.

"I'll wait here for you, then, my lord?" Charon asked Hermes, bobbing respectfully.

"Yes," Hermes said simply, and handed me out of the boat. We walked away. "You have the bracelet?"

"Right here."

"Well, there's Cerberus."

"Yeah. I noticed."

"Hard to miss, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"So are you going to do it?"

"Yeah, I'm going to do it. Give me a minute, will you?"

"We're wasting time, Ariadne. Your husband is probably fighting dozens of Death Eaters as we speak."

"Fine," I huffed. I looked at the snarling, three headed dog and then at the bracelet. "Do I just—toss it to him?"

Hermes eyed the enormous dog. "More than a toss, I think."

"Right." I drew my arm back and chucked the bracelet at the middle head as hard as I could. It snapped the bracelet out of the air and swallowed it, looking surprised. Then it started growling again. I turned to Hermes. "Now what?"

"Sing," he suggested. "It worked for Orpheus."

"Sing," I muttered. "Okay. Sure. Here goes, I guess...

"_Nani, nani, to moro mou kani, nani_..."

Hermes snorted in amusement, but did not interrupt. I was basically singing the Greek version of "go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep little baby". I didn't see what was so funny about it, especially since it worked. Cerberus slowly sank to the ground and we crept carefully by him, singing all the while. At least, _I_ sang. Hermes was useless.

"That was fun," I commented when we were safely past. "Let's never do it again."

"Seconded," Hermes agreed. "Usually people are already dead when I lead them past him. Come on, we'll cut straight through the Field of Asphodels to the Palace."  
We hurried through a vast plain of waving white flowers ignoring the faces of small children and other spirits that lingered there. We just plowed ahead until we reached the vast, black marble palace. I hesitated in the doorway. I was about to meet Hades. The god of death. What if—no what-ifs, I told myself firmly. Hermes is with me. I have Apollo's blessing. I'll be fine.

I took a deep breath and walked across the threshold. Hades was there—alone. Persephone was with her mother still. Surprisingly, I felt my fears ease a fraction. Hades' face was dark and stern, but fair. Death was straightforward—Hades wouldn't try to trick me. He didn't have to. Hermes and I knelt before the god and bowed our heads.

"You have returned my helmet, I see," Hades said, flicking a cold glance at Hermes. "Finally."

"I keep telling you, it wasn't me," Hermes said testily. "But here it is. Courtesy of Ariadne. She's very clever. Apollo's favorite, you know."

The helmet flew out of my hands. Hades caught it and inspected it with a frown on his face.

"There is a mortal enchantment on it," he said. "How did this happen?"

"An evil wizard," I explained, "used it to contain a bit of his soul in an attempt to become immortal. I believe he used your helmet to spit in death's eye. Pardon the phrase."

"Really," Hades said dangerously.

"If you lift the enchantment he can be killed," I said hopefully. "I thought, since I brought it to you..."

"Yes, yes," Hades said, nodding. "I can certainly do that. My thanks for returning it to me, Ariadne."

"My pleasure," I said politely, if somewhat untruthfully. "There's just a couple more things..."

I paused, half-expecting him to tell me to join Sisyphus for my insolence.

"Go on," Hades said.

"There is a man on the other side of the Styx," I said. "He's not dead—he shouldn't be there, and he's needed at home. I need to take him back."

"What do you offer in return for his release?" Hades inquired.

"This man's soul," I said, and Hermes held up the bone cage as if displaying a door prize.

"I see," Hades said, leaning forward. I swear I saw his mouth twitch as if he were restraining a smile. "Very neat. Portable."

"Yes, very convenient," I agreed. "He belongs here more than Sirius does, _kyrie_."

"I quite agree," Hades said. "Sirius is yours. What is your second request?"

"The Unburied Souls," I said after a moment of hesitation. "_Kyrie_, it's not their fault they weren't buried, or buried without payment. Won't you let them in?"

"What are you willing to give in return?" Hades asked me.

"I don't have anything," I admitted, and the Sybil's words came back to me:

_To strike a bargain, you must have something to trade_.

"I don't have anything to trade," I whispered.

"Yes, you do," Hades said, much to my surprise. "You have another life inside you. But are you willing to trade it away?"

At first I had no idea what he was talking about—and then it hit me. The baby. A surge of relief so powerful swept through me that I nearly collapsed. I didn't have to have a baby. I could get rid of it. Then I came to my senses. How was it a fair trade if I was glad to give it up? And—Jesus, what kind of person was I? It was for the best, I told myself. You promised to help those people however you could. And you can't have a baby. The very idea is ludicrous. Why condemn those souls to an eternity of waiting so you can keep a baby you never wanted in the first place?

"You can't cheat death," Hades told me gently, as if he were reading my thoughts. "Trust me, child. It _will_ be a sacrifice."

"A sacrifice I am willing to make," I said firmly. "You have a deal."

Hades nodded. "It is done. You may go."

Hermes and I rose and backed away. Once outside, Hermes picked me up and rose into the air.

"This will be faster," he told me, flying back the way we came.

"Why didn't we just do this in the first place?" I asked, annoyed.

"You needed to prepare yourself," Hermes said. "Would you have wanted to face Hades right away?"

No. No, I wouldn't have wanted to. Hades was fair, yes, but he was still the god of death. And he was scary as hell. I was glad to be zooming away as fast as Hermes could go. We zipped over Cerberus' head and over the Styx. We landed among the Unburied Souls, who were crowding around a very sour looking Charon. Sirius rushed up, a look of wild joy on his face. He seized me by the shoulders and pulled me into a rough hug.

"Thank you," he whispered brokenly. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," I said. "Let's go!"

Hermes picked both of us up with one in each arm—hey, he _is_ a god—and flew us back to the entrance. He set us down and smiled at me.

"You're on your own now, kid," he said, and kissed my forehead. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Hermes," I said. "For everything. I couldn't have done it without you."

"And we couldn't have done it without _you_," he said cryptically, and disappeared.

"Ready?" I asked Sirius. He looked crestfallen. "What's wrong?"

"I've tried going through here," he said dully. "A million times. It doesn't work."

"It will now," I said impatiently. "You have Hades' permission. Now let's go._"_

I took his hand and stepped through the archway, pulling him after me. We emerged in the same empty chamber. I blinked in surprise. Where were Draco and the others? Where were the Death Eaters? How long had I been at Bellum's anyway? Could the fight still be at Hogwarts?

"I don't know where everyone is," I said, looking around. "There was a fight at Hogwarts, but they must have been here to throw in the Horcruxes...did they go back?"

"If there was a fight, they would have," Sirius said confidently. "Can you Apparate?"

"I'm not a witch," I said. "Not exactly."

"You'll have to hold on to me, then," he said, leading the way out of the room and drawing his wand. He illuminated the tip and stared at it for a moment with tears in his eyes. "It feels so good to do magic again. To be _alive _again." Then he shook himself. "Come on, we'll have to get outside to Apparate."

We headed for the door and Sirius stumbled, just barely catching himself. I rushed to his side and caught his arm, looking him over for signs of an injury or—something.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said, looking around. "I tripped over something--"

"Mistress Ari!" a voice squeaked, and suddenly Cinders appeared. She was clutching a length of shimmery, flowing fabric. "You is back!"

"Cinders? What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Cinders is waiting for you, Mistress," she replied. "Master Draco is telling me to stay and bring you back to Malfoy Manor. Is great battle at Hogwarts. Master Draco is fighting with Phoenixes."

"Oh," I said, looking at Sirius. "Well, now we know where they are."

"Draco?" Sirius asked. "Draco _Malfoy_?"

"Yes," I said a little irritably. "Draco Malfoy. My husband."

"Your husband? Then you're a--"

"No, I'm not," I snapped. "And neither is he. He's been helping the Order of the Phoenix for weeks."

"How long has it been since I—fell? How old is Harry?"

"My husband is twenty-three," I said stiffly. "I don't know how old Potter is."

"Eight years," Sirius breathed, looking dizzy. "Or seven. Jesus."

"Are we going, or what?" I asked impatiently.

"Yes, we is going now, Mistress," Cinders squeaked, and reached for my hand.

I snatched my hand away hastily. "No, Cinders. I'm going to Hogwarts. I have to help."

"But Mistress--"

"Get to Hogwarts," I told her. "Tell Draco I'm alright. And--"

"Tell Harry Sirius is coming," Sirius said over his shoulder, heading for the door.

I followed him hastily and we ran through the deserted hallway to an elevator that took us to the ground floor. He led the way out onto the street and held a hand out to me. I gripped it firmly and we were gone. I was almost used to the sensation by now—if you can get used to being shoved through a rubber straw.

We ran up the road to the castle. Sirius suddenly changed into an enormous black dog and loped ahead. An Animagus, I thought. Huh. I changed too and quickly caught up to him. The smell of magic was overwhelming. I could see flashes of light and hear shouts and howls of pain. I ran faster, overtaking Sirius. I was built for speed; he wasn't. He looked more like a bear than a dog.

I blew through the gates and attacked the first Death Eater I saw—they were all wearing skull masks, making them easy to pick out. Not a good move. This particular Death Eater was—had been—fighting with Granger. He wasn't anymore, though. I left my kill and looked around for a new victim. I didn't worry about making new werewolves now; this was the only way I could fight right now.

I caught a glimpse of Sirius, human now and fighting with a sallow-faced, black haired witch who looked like she had seen a ghost. Well, I suppose she had. I dodged a curse sent my way and lunged at my attacker, knocking him over and burying my muzzle in his throat. The wolf inside me was going nuts—the smell of blood was electrifying.

I went a little insane for a few minutes, though thankfully I retained enough awareness to know who was on my side. Then, suddenly, I realized something was wrong with me. I changed back to human and narrowly avoided being trampled by a centaur. My belly was cramping and I could feel wetness trickling down my thighs. What? But I was pregnant, how could I have my—oh. It wasn't my period. It was a miscarriage. I bit my teeth against the pain and crawled behind a tree.

"Artemis," I gasped. "Help me."

"I'm here," she said. "I'm here. Stand up."

"Thank you," I said gratefully as she took the pain away.

"There," she said, pointing to a fallen woman's bow. "The Amazons came. Use her bow—their arrows are enchanted."

"Thank you," I said again.

I looked up at the tree I was hiding behind. I could reach the first branch if I jumped. I backed up into the forest—away from the fighting—and got a running start. I swung myself into the tree and held my hand out. The bow and quiver flew to my hand. I climbed higher and found a spot where I could see the open field below. Only then did I start shooting. No sense in sitting out in the open like a big, white target, after all.

I saw plenty of faces I knew—including Genevieve Dolohov, who was finishing off her husband with a look of triumph on her face. Kingsley Shacklebolt took down a wizard trying to get at Genevieve. Huh. Genevieve was a traitor? I had a flashback to the Christmas ball and seeing Genevieve flirting with Kingsley. Maybe it wasn't flirting. But this wasn't the time to wonder about it.

I shot until I ran out of arrows, then watched carefully, making sure the other Amazons' arrows reached their targets and setting people's clothes on fire. I felt sick. I could still taste blood in my mouth. But that wasn't making me sick. What was making me sick was that I didn't mind it.

Then I saw it. Him. Voldemort. Practically right underneath me. He almost made me fall off my perch. He was—terrifying. Inhuman. He was bald and gray, with long, slender, pale hands. His eyes were bright red with slit pupils. His nose was flat with slit nostrils, like a snake's. He knelt, cradling an enormous snake's head in his lap. Potter stood before him, glaring murderously.

"Fight me," Potter growled. "I know about your Horcruxes. They're all destroyed. Every last one."

"Nagini was no Horcrux," Voldemort hissed softly.

"No," Potter said coldly. "But she's dead."

"Dead like your parents," Voldemort agreed. "Dead like your dear Sirius Black."

"Not just yet," Sirius interrupted, stepping forward. Potter went pale and looked like he might faint. "I was merely—indisposed."

"Well, I suppose I shall have to remedy that," Voldemort snarled, rising quickly and gracefully to his feet and lifting his wand in one motion.

"NO!" Potter yelled, lunging in front of Sirius just as I knocked Voldemort sideways with a huge burst of magic. I set Voldemort's robes on fire and scrambled down from my branch. I dropped out of the tree as a wolf and leaped to place myself next to Potter. I had gone through a lot of trouble to get Sirius out of the Underworld, and I was not going to let some creepy corpse send him right back.

Things happened very quickly after that. Voldemort raised his wand once more and I sent it flying with another wave of magic. Sirius and Potter raised their wands at the same time and shouted some spell—it sounded suspiciously like 'abra kadabra' but I was sure that couldn't be it—and twin jets of green light shot straight into Voldemort's chest. He flew backward, hit a tree, and fell to the ground. He lay still.

Everything was still.

Everyone stopped fighting and stared at the figure lying beneath the tree. His resemblance to a corpse was now even more striking because he was, in fact, a corpse. After a moment's hesitation, I slunk forward and sniffed the body. Definitely dead. I turned back to see Potter staring at the quickly disintegrating form of Lord Voldemort with his face blank from shock. I changed back.

"He's dead," I said softly. "You did it. He's gone."

"He's gone," Harry repeated dumbly. "He's gone."

"Yes," Sirius said, gripping his god-son's shoulder. "I'm so proud of you, Harry."

"Sirius!" Harry cried, as if seeing him for the first time. "You're alive!"

"Yes, thanks to your cousin," Sirius laughed. "Although I don't really understand--"

"It's a long story," we said together, and grinned reluctantly at each other.

"A little help, if you don't mind!" a woman with bright blue hair yelled, dueling with a Death Eater. "They're escaping!"

"Right," Sirius said. "Let's go."

"I'll just—go this way," I said lamely as they dashed off together. "Back in the tree."

"Ari!" Draco ran toward me and grabbed me by the shoulders. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at Malfoy Manor? Are you hurt? You're bleeding."

"I was helping defeat the most evil wizard of all time, I didn't feel like waiting around and worrying for you, no I'm not hurt, and I'm bleeding because--" I hesitated. "Because I just lost the baby."

"But you're alright?" Draco asked, looking me over. "You're sure?"

"I'm fine," I assured him. "But Draco, we need to talk--"

"Later," he said. "Get up to the castle and help Madame Pomfrey in the Infirmary."

"Draco--"

"Later, Ari," he said brusquely. "I need to see to things here."

"Draco it's really--"

"Whatever it is, it can wait," he said, already jogging away. "Just go!"

"Oh, boy," I muttered.

This was going to suck.

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I'm sorry, Amy! That's why I replied to your review saying I hope you don't hate me. o(


	17. Several Unexpected Endings

Alas, it is the last (hey that rhymes) chapter. Savor it, bunnies. I hope you had as much fun as I did.

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Christo was dead. Draco found him after the battle was over. There was not a scratch on him—but then, the Killing Curse left no marks. Or so Draco told me. I received the news with surprisingly few tears. I was numb inside. I had killed—how many? How many of those people, regardless of their allegiance, had had family and friends who would mourn their deaths? Why should I escape unscathed?

But Christo was dead.

When Draco told me, I quietly asked him to give me some time alone and lay down in my—our—bed, staring at the ceiling. He had been so excited about fighting. He had tried to act serious and solemn for Draco, but he was a young man, after all. Dying for a little bit of adventure and excitement.

Draco had tried to warn him, tried to impress upon him the danger of the situation. But Christo just didn't—I stopped myself. Christo _had_ known what he was getting into. I believed Draco had gotten through to him. But Christo did it anyway. He died for what he believed in, I told myself firmly. He was a brave, selfless man. Not a thoughtless boy. He had known what he was getting into. I was proud of him.

But the fact remained that Christo was dead.

Oh, God, what was I going to tell Yiayia? My family—how could I explain to all of them what had happened? Yiayia and his immediate family at least could know the truth. But what about the others? What could I tell them? He had died in a car crash? There wasn't a scratch on him. Heart failure? What?

There was a knock on the door and Draco let himself in. He sat on the bed and smoothed my hair back.

"How are you doing?" he asked, brushing his lips across my forehead.

"When are the dead being buried?" I asked.

"Soon," he said, looking surprised. "A huge funeral pyre is being prepared. It will probably be ready in a few days—that will give their families time to get here."

"I need you to do something," I told him. "Not right now—I need to talk to you about something."

"What do you need?" he asked.

"You have to make sure that each of the dead has two gold coins with them when they're laid to rest," I said. "To pay the Boatman."

"What? What boatman?"

I explained about Charon and the build-up of souls who hadn't had anything to pay him with. Then I told him about the deal I struck with Hades for the Horcrux and for Sirius. And for the souls stuck outside. How I had given our unborn child to pay their fare. Draco didn't say anything. But that was alright, because I had more to say. I had to say it all.

"I won't pretend it was selflessness on my part," I said softly, staring at my hands. "It was entirely selfish—or almost entirely. I did promise them, but...I would have done it, regardless. I'm not ready to have a baby, Draco."

"You gave it to him," Draco said, voice devoid of emotion. "Knowingly. Gladly, even."

"Not gladly," I said honestly. "But with relief."

"You were _relieved_ to kill our child?" Draco demanded, a flicker of anger showing. "Relieved? Ari, you _killed_ it."

"I couldn't do it," I snapped. "I never wanted a baby. If it weren't for you, I would have found a way—herbs, potions, anything—to get rid of it. I just—couldn't, Draco. I'm not ready for a baby. And neither are you."

"I can't believe you," he said slowly, shaking his head. He got up and backed away from me. "I can't believe you're saying this. I knew you were nervous, but—you _killed_ it, Ari. How could you do that? It was your baby—I thought women--"

"Maybe if you were around more often you _could_ believe it," I snapped. "You were never here to see how much it cost me not to stab myself in the belly just to get rid of it. You don't understand, Draco—you can't understand. You didn't have this—this _thing_ inside you. What kind of mother gives birth to a child she doesn't want? What kind of a life could that child lead? I'm _eighteen_, Draco. I should be graduating from high school. Did you know that two of my students are older than me? I'm not ready to have a baby!"

"But you killed--"

"How many people have you killed?" I demanded. "How many sons and fathers and brothers? You made a living out of death so stop being so self-righteous. You're acting like Potter, for God's sake."

"What I did, I did to protect my mother," Draco said, his voice dangerously soft. "I did it to protect my family—all the family I had. That child was supposed to be part of ours."

"It wouldn't have been," I said flatly. "It couldn't have been. I didn't want it. I don't want a baby, Draco—maybe I will someday, but not anytime soon. When I have a baby, I want to be able to love it. I won't bring an unwanted child into this world."

Draco collapsed into a chair and rested his head in his hands. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You were so excited," I whispered, tears pricking at my eyes. "I tried, Draco. You have to know that. I tried to accept it. I tried to love it. I tried to be happy—for you. But I couldn't."

"I thought I knew you," Draco murmured. "I never would have thought you could do something like this."

"I guess we don't know much about each other at all, really," I said, swallowing heavily. "Most of our time together was a lie."

"It wasn't a lie," Draco said sharply. "I just—couldn't tell you everything."

"Anything," I corrected him. "I didn't know a thing about you until after we left England. You deceived me, lied to me. To protect me, yes, but it was still a lie. But I thought..."

I sighed and smiled. It wobbled precariously, but it held.

"We were really dumb, huh?" I whispered.

Draco was silent for a long time.

"Maybe," he admitted. He cleared his throat. "You should get some rest."

"Draco, wait," I sat up quickly. "What—what happens now?"

"I don't know," he said, and laughed bitterly. "What can we do? We're stuck with each other."

"Stuck...?" I stared at him. "We're not stuck. We just can't be with anyone else. We don't—we don't have to stay together. I mean, we _can_..."

"Do you want to?" he asked dully.

I stared at him for a long moment and looked away. "You think I was wrong."

"Yes."

"Can you forgive me, do you think?"

Draco stared blindly at his hands. "I don't know, Ari."

"I can't live with that, Draco," I said quietly.

"Can't or won't?" Draco asked, sneering a little.

"You're right," I said coldly. "I could live with it, but I won't. I don't want to spend every day feeling like I have to make it up to you. I did what I had to do. Maybe it was wrong, but I still had to do it."

"So that's it, then?" Draco asked heavily.

"I guess so," I said. I got slowly to my feet.

"You don't have to leave," he protested, getting up from the chair. "I'll go."

"No," I said. "You stay—you have business to finish. I'm going. There's nothing for me here."

I walked quickly out the door, through the doors, and out of the castle. I changed and ran into the hills behind Hogsmeade, where I found the cave we had slept in. It seemed so long ago. I turned away and headed farther into the hills. Then I changed back. I sat for a long time, staring at nothing. I didn't cry. I didn't feel anything.

Who could have guessed it would end this way? Love conquers all, right? Apparently not. Draco and I loved each other—that much was true. But now—was it my fault for making the choice? Was it his, for not accepting it? It was my choice to make. My body that was hosting an internal parasite. But the baby was his, too. It was his seed that had been eating up my insides. That was why it was a sacrifice, just like Hades said. Not giving up the baby—never that. But in giving up the baby, I had given up Draco as well. And that hurt. It hurt so much I could hardly breath. But you know what? If I could go back in time to that same moment...

I would do it again.

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I found Ginny in the inn at Hogsmeade—she wasn't badly injured, so she wasn't staying in the castle. She took one look at my face and pulled me inside. She didn't even have to use her brain-picking powers; the whole story just came pouring out like water from a fountain. Or like the tears streaming from my eyes. She tucked me into bed with firm orders to rest, eat lots of chocolate, and let her take care of everything. I was only too happy to comply.

I attended the funeral in wolf form—though I needn't have worried. Draco wasn't there. I did notice, however, the glint of gold among the flames. I was glad. It comforted me to think that Christo would at least make it to the land of the dead. He would enter and be judged by Minos. I was sure he would go to the Elysian Fields. He was a hero in my eyes. At the very least, he would drink from Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, and be reborn. He wouldn't wait on the banks of the Styx for all eternity.

After the funeral, Ginny brought me to London to stay. She had me read the address on a slip of paper. Her mother was all kindness and solicitude and made every effort to make me feel at home even though she had lost two of her sons—Percy, the Minister, and Charlie, who I had never met. Ginny was still needed by the Order, so mostly it was just me and Molly Weasely at home.

"This isn't really home, though," she told me one morning. "We're at the Order's Headquarters—don't worry, it's perfectly safe. No one can find it unless the Secret Keeper tells them where it is—that's why you had to read the slip of paper before you came. When Dumbledore died, the Secret was passed on to Minerva. I'm not sure exactly how that works; the Fidelius Charm is really quite complicated.

"This is Sirius' house, you know. That's why we're even bothering to fix the place up again. While he was—I don't know, was he dead or wasn't he? Oh, well, when he disappeared, the house passed to Harry, but course he didn't want to stay here, the poor dear. He's been living with us all these years—he's practically one of my own. Oh, I can't wait for Harry and Ginny's wedding, it'll be so nice..."

I wasn't very interested in any of this, but Molly seemed to find comfort in it and I didn't mind. Because I couldn't get a word in edgewise, I didn't have to talk much. I just helped her clean up and make the house more cheerful for Sirius' arrival. I helped cook for whatever Order members dropped by and did my best to stay out of sight.

Harry started coming by more often and made a point of spending some time with me. He said it was only right to get to know each other—we were family, after all. I agreed with him, mostly because I didn't have anyone else to turn to. I was lonely—and curious about my mother's side. He told me about how he had lived with his—our—Aunt Petunia and her husband, Vernon, and their horrible son, Dudley. He even made me laugh a few times while regaling me with Dudley's antics. Even Ron Weasely, who I had bitten, was making an effort to be nice even though I had made him an abnormal werewolf—I had bitten him at the half-moon, so he changed accordingly.

"I could take you home," Harry offered one evening as he, Ginny, and I sipped hot chocolate in the kitchen. I spent most of my time in the kitchen. "It would be no trouble, if that's what you wanted."

"Thank you," I began, then frowned. "But—I don't know. I've only just gotten to know you." I forced a light smile. "Are you kicking me out, cousin?"

"Of course not," Harry said, looking abashed. "I just thought you were homesick—you've been looking a bit off-color."

"I wonder why," Ginny murmured, rolling her eyes. I smiled faintly. "We're having a big coming-home party for Sirius in a few days, Ari. Why don't we go shopping? I saw a dress in Muggle London the other day that would look great on you."

"Yeah, I'd love to," I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Is Hermione coming, too?"

"Of course," Ginny said, grinning. "She hates shopping—that's why I love shopping with her. I can drag her around and dress her up like a doll. I also use her to test my hair products, you know. If they work on Hermione's hair, I figure they'll work on anyone's."

I laughed. "What do you mean? Her hair's pretty."

"Hah," Harry said with a snort. "That's because she uses Ginny's Lion Tamer potion. When I first met her, her hair was about five times the size it is now"

"She was rather fuzzy, wasn't she?" Ginny said with a nostalgic smile. "There were one or two curls, but the rest was frizz and fluff."

"Oh, dear," I murmured. Suddenly I thought of my cousin Sofi. "Hey, Ginny, do you think I could buy some from you? I have a cousin who could probably benefit from a little bit of magic hair product."

"No, you can't buy anything from me," Ginny said bluntly. "You can have anything you want for free."

"No—Ginny--"

"Saving Sirius—and Harry—is at least worth a lifetime supply of hair potion," Ginny said firmly.

I raised my hands in defeat. "Fine, fine. I only need the one for my cousin. _I_ don't need hair potions, after all."

I gave my hair a smug little toss. I may be single, I thought, but I'm still gorgeous. He can't take that away. A chunk of my very soul, perhaps, but not my beauty. Or my pride, or my self-esteem, or confidence, or security. That's what I told myself, anyway. But my superficial good looks—those were definitely mine. I could keep those.

On the night of Sirius' party, Ginny and I got dressed in her room. She wore a simple yet elegant white dress and curled her hair. Just for kicks, I decided to wear mine straight. It felt different—I hadn't changed the color, but it felt incredibly different for some reason. Even more different than when I was Alexandra Rodriguez and my hair was blond. But it was a good kind of different; I felt bolder than I had since—since I left Hogwarts. The dress Ginny had picked out didn't hurt anything, either—she was right, it did look great on me.

Harry and Sirius met us at the top of the stairs. Harry smiled at me, looking pleased with himself. Sirius smiled as well, but kind of sheepishly. I laughed and rolled my eyes, but I was secretly happy—and relieved. I hadn't been looking forward to entering the party all by myself. To think I had made fun of Narcissa only months ago for her insistence on an escort.

"May I have the honor of accompanying you, madam?" Sirius said with a cheeky grin, offering his arm.

"Only because you've been dead for several years," I replied, smiling. "Shall we?"

Sirius and I descended first and entered the ballroom amidst thunderous applause. Then Harry and Ginny followed and were met by a small explosion of cheers.

"Isn't this supposed to be your party?" I shouted to Sirius.

"Yes, but Harry deserves it more than I do," Sirius yelled back. "I just came back from the dead—he was clever enough to avoid dying in the first place."

I laughed and released him as the people around him started pushing him back toward the stairs to give a toast. Or a speech. Something along those lines. I let out a blurted protest as Sirius snagged my hand and pulled me after him. I tried to tug my hand away, but he held fast. I followed him reluctantly onto the stairs and stared at a spot on the wall above the crowd.

"Oy, you lot!" Sirius bellowed above the noise. "If you want me to give a speech, you're going to have to shut up." He waited another minute for the chuckling to fade, then began again. "I've been told that it has been seven years since the Department of Mysteries. I wouldn't know—to me it seemed like an eternity and yet only a week. During that time, I only had one thought: I had to get out. Someone here needed me, and I had promised his parents—and him—that I would take care of him. I would give my life to save Harry's without a second thought. But I didn't have any life to give—I wasn't alive, I wasn't dead. I merely—existed.

"My one comfort was that I never saw Harry—so I knew he was still alive. But I began to despair of ever escaping. Until I met Ariadne. Even though I knew it was impossible that she could have the power to do so, I begged her to get me out. After so long, I didn't expect anything but disappointment—but she did it. I don't know how and, frankly, I'm not brave enough to ask, but she convinced the god of death to let me go. And not just me—she saved thousands of souls from eternal suffering on the edge of death. So please believe me when I say that the true heroine tonight is this young woman beside me. Ariadne Metaxas."

I looked away and tried to block the sound of the applause. They shouldn't be clapping for me, I thought. I was no hero. I exchanged Bellum's life for Sirius'. It was not an act of compassion. It was revenge. And as for the Unburied Souls—luck. Or fate, perhaps. If I hadn't been pregnant and I hadn't had anything to trade but my own life, those souls would still be waiting by the Styx.

Sirius and I rejoined the party. Several house elves, including Dobby and an extremely unpleasant elf named Kreacher, carried around trays loaded with little snacks and drinks over their heads. It gave the impression that these trays were merely floating about at waist level. It was kind of disconcerting.

"Enjoying the party?" an elderly man in a top hat asked me.

"Oh, yes," I said, raising my glass to take a sip of my drink. "It's very nice."

"What a lovely ring that is," he observed, leaning forward to inspect it. "But where is your husband?"

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. No one had mentioned Draco in my presence since the Incident, as I had started calling it.

"I—you know, I really couldn't say," I said with a strained smile. "I'm sure he's around somewhere."

"If I meet him, I'll be sure to tell him what a lucky man he is," the old man said, beaming, and walked away.

"Daedalus Diggle," Hermione said, suddenly appearing at my side. "He can be a bit dim sometimes."

"I—Hermione, _what_ are you wearing?" I asked, glad for a distraction. "Robes? What happened to that dress that we bought the other day?"

"I returned it," Hermione said, blushing. "It was too--"

"Too what?" I demanded. "Too pretty? Hermione, you looked amazing. And you're wearing _robes _instead?"

"They're dress robes," Hermione said defensively. "They're perfectly appropriate. And, anyway, we're not talking about me."

"We're not talking about me, either," I said firmly. When she opened her mouth to protest, I cut her off. "Drop it, Hermione."

"Alright," she conceded. "Fine. Hold it all in and let it fester if you want to."

"Nothing is festering," I said calmly. "And, anyway, this isn't the time or the place."

"Alright," she said again, and shrugged. "But try to smile a bit, would you? This party is for you as much as for Sirius."

I wished people would stop saying that. This was a welcome home party. For Sirius. Even if I had done something wonderful like they all thought, it was still a welcome home party. And it wasn't my home.

I spent a month at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, wandering around like a lost puppy. I didn't know what to do. Everyone was nice and hospitable and grateful to me for bringing Sirius back, but I felt out of place. I knew I had to go away—somewhere, but I had no idea where to go.

Luckily, Ginny did. She found me in the kitchen one day, cooking "authentic" Greek food, at Harry's request. She sat down at the kitchen table and just watched me for a few minutes before setting down the glass she had been fiddling with.

"I have a proposition for you," she said. "I know you want to get out of here. I also know you don't want to go home to Greece, and I think I know why. So I've been thinking. I want to start my own line of hair-products and I don't think anyone has time to think about things like that right now. In England, at least. But in America. . .you used to live in America, and your father was a businessman. Come with me—I think we can do it together. And, if not, we can find something else to do or go our separate ways. Whatever you want."

"What about Harry?" I asked.

"We've waited this long," she said with a smile. "We can wait a little longer. Besides, he wants to make up for lost time with Sirius. And he can visit. So what do you say?"

I hesitated only a moment.

"When do we leave?"

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It took a couple of months to get our affairs in order, but the time finally came for us to move out. The Ministry, now headed by Ginny's father, Arthur Weasley—I'm telling you, it was the Mafia—arranged for a Portkey to Washington. From there, we used brooms—Ginny taught me how to fly—to get to the small house in West Virginia we'd bought. It was small, cheap, and secluded—I wanted plenty of room to roam—and it had fairly easy access to Philadelphia, Washington, and other large cities.

Ginny's hair products were a huge hit—within six months, all the wizarding models and celebrities were using Fiery Phoenix hair products. We eventually branched out into make-up and bath products, which were also a huge success. She developed the products and I marketed them—we worked well together.

For the most part, it was a good life. Except sometimes I would pass a college campus and think, I should be there. None of this should have happened. I should be in Princeton, learning to be a diplomat. My father should still be alive and we should still be living with Soula in our big house in New England. I shouldn't be living in a little cottage in West Virginia selling hair goop to witches. I shouldn't be crying myself to sleep every night because I lost the only man I would ever—or could ever—love. I shouldn't be wearing a gorgeous ring that would never, ever come off.

And to think, it all happened because of one stupid moment. One moment where I thought, what the hell? Just do it. I'd had it all and then everything started to go downhill because of one dumb moment. I'd had it all—and I lost it. Everything.

Gradually, the days did not seem so long and torturous and I began to see what I had gained: a good friend, a steady job that was also successful and enjoyable, and a home that was truly my own. Well, mine and Ginny's. But we had done it ourselves. It wasn't an inheritance, it wasn't a gift, it wasn't acquired through marriage. It was ours. And that was worth more to me than I could say.

For nearly two years, Ginny and I lived in our little cabin. We spent a lot of time in cities, but I for one had to return every month. I worked long hours and filled my spare time with side jobs: teaching voice lessons and guitar lessons and piano lessons and riding lessons. I tutored high school students in French, Italian, and Spanish. All of the useless stuff I'd learned to make myself more attractive to colleges I taught to other rich kids prepping for the Ivy League. I did everything I could think of. Anything to fill the extra hours in the day so I wouldn't have time to think about what I'd lost. And it worked—for a while. It would have gone on working if what I had lost hadn't knocked on my front door.

It was the morning after the last night of the full moon and I was sleeping peacefully. I was having a dream that I was riding down the road at a gallop. It was very vivid—I could actually hear the hoof beats. And then I woke up and realized that it was not hoof beats at all, but someone knocking on the door. Grumbling curses, I rolled out of bed and stomped downstairs to open the door. I froze.

"Draco," I breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for my wife," Draco said softly. "Have you seen her?"

"That depends on what you want her for," I said cautiously. Then I remembered my manners. "Why don't you come in?"

I led him to the kitchen and set about making food. I didn't know what to do. I felt hot and cold at once—nervous and excited and scared and doubtful. There's a mindset common to almost all Greek women: when in doubt, cook something. Food can only make it better.

"So—so what have you been up to?" I asked casually, sitting down.

"I got an official pardon from the Ministry," he said. "That took a while. But for the past year or so I've been sailing with Kallias. It's good work—and good company. I enjoy it."

"That's good," I murmured. "How is he?"

"Good," he replied. "He wants to see you again. He wants you to come home."

"And what do you want?"

"I want my wife back," he said simply. "I've missed you, Ari."

"So much has changed, Draco...we've been apart longer than we were together," I said. "It was only six months."

"It was the best six months of my life," Draco said. "Barring the last twenty minutes or so."

I laughed a little in spite of myself and he reached across the table to take my hand.

"We can start over," Draco continued. "Here or in Greece or in England. Wherever you want to go, I'll go with you—hell, we can go to Uzbekistan if you want."

"Not that I don't appreciate the thought, but why would I want to go to Uzbekistan?"

"I don't know—it seemed suitably remote to illustrate my point."

"Do you really think it will work?" I asked, trying to keep the hope—and yearning—out of my voice.

"I'll make it work," Draco promised, squeezing my hand.

"What about—you know. What happened," I said, looking away. The memory was still painful.

Draco hesitated before speaking.

"It hurt, Ari," he said finally. "For a while all I could think about was that you had given it up. It felt an awful lot like betrayal. But then I realized that giving you up hurt even more. That I had betrayed you. And I won't do that again."

"I believe you," I said evenly. "But I have to be sure you understand. I'm not noble, Draco. I'm not self-sacrificing. When I gave the baby up, I was glad to be rid of it. I wasn't glad to give it up because I knew it would hurt you, but to be free of it...I was thrilled, Draco. Ecstatic. And If I get pregnant by accident again, there's a very good chance I'll get rid of it one way or another."

Draco smiled crookedly. "I guess we'll just have to make sure you don't get pregnant, then."

"And I'm not going to be a stay-at-home housewife," I said. "Or a trophy wife. I won't sit at home while you go off and do interesting things with your life."

"You know, Britain is still trying to get back on her feet," Draco commented. "They could use a little help in terms of foreign relations. If I remember correctly, that was the field you wanted to go into."

"Yes, it was," I said wistfully.

"Well, I'm sure I could—you could get yourself a job with the British Ministry if you wanted," Draco said. "You're wasted on hair products."

"Hey, Fiery Phoenix hair potions are entirely worthy of my talents," I protested. "Ginny's done a great job."

"So have you," Draco said. "Ari, if you want to stay here, I'll stay here. Just tell me what you want."

"What if I wanted you to leave and never come back?" I asked softly.

Draco's eyes widened minutely, then his jaw clenched. "That I won't do. I'm not going anywhere. Not without you."

I nodded mutely, unable to speak. I rose and stirred the soup before going upstairs and changing. I turned to see Draco hovering in the doorway.

"Where are you going?" he asked uncertainly.

I smiled and crossed to him, leaning my forehead against his chest. After a moment, his arms came around me hesitantly. I listened to his heartbeat and let my breathing match his. I had dreamed about this every night since we parted. Every night, without fail. And now it was real. It took me a few minutes to finally answer him.

"I'm going to find Ginny."

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"You're _what_?" Ginny practically screeched.

"I'm going back to Greece with Draco," I said calmly.

"When was this decided?" she demanded.

"This morning," I said simply.

"He just shows up out of the blue after two years and you decide to run off with him?"

"I'm not 'running off with him'," I said, rolling my eyes. "We're married."

"That wasn't a marriage, it was a mistake," Ginny said flatly.

"So now we'll make a real marriage," I insisted. "Look, Ginny. I'm not asking you. I'm _informing_ you. I'll stay long enough to train a replacement and then I'm gone."

"Gone. Just like that," Ginny said bitterly.

"Ginny," I said, softening a little. "It's not like I'm dropping off the face of the earth. I can visit—or you can visit me in Greece. And you and your family and Harry and Sirius will all be invited to the wedding."

"Wedding? You're already married," Ginny said with a frown.

"Magically, yes," I explained. "But not by Muggle law. My family has been expecting a Muggle ceremony."

"What, didn't they know you split up?" Ginny asked. When I didn't answer right away, she grabbed my arm. "Ari—didn't you _tell_ them?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Not in so many words."

"I don't believe this," Ginny said, laughing incredulously. "You've been _waiting_ for him. All this time."

"Well, it wasn't like I could just bang someone else and forget all about him," I snapped. "Moving on wasn't exactly an option."

"Still—what would you have done if he hadn't come back?" Ginny asked, shaking her head.

"That's irrelevant," I said. "He _did_ come back and I _am_ going with him. We'll stay three weeks. One week to find a replacement and another two to train her. Or him."

"Her," Ginny said firmly. "And _he_ is not staying in our house."

"Oh, I know," I said with a sweet smile. "I'm staying in his."

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"So you're _sure_ you want to do this," Ginny said for the thousandth time.

"Yes, Ginny," I said patiently while Draco bit back what was no doubt a snide comment fighting to get out. "I'm _sure_ I want to do this."

"Just making sure."

"You've been 'just making sure' for the past three weeks," Draco said irritably. "Give it a rest, Weasley."

"Well, obviously no one made sure _you_ were sure the last time," Ginny shot back.

"Oh, my," I said, startled. "Low blow, Gin."

"Well, it's true," she said stubbornly.

"Not entirely, and you know it," I said sternly. She was the only one aside from Draco and myself who knew the reason for our separation. "Cheer up, you get to spend three weeks in Greece next summer."

Ginny sighed. "I guess having to associate with _him_ is a small enough price to pay."

"I have my doubts, personally," Draco muttered. "Are we leaving or what?"

"You've waited two years," I told him. "You can wait another five minutes."

"_Females_."

"What was that?" I turned a beady eye on him and he smiled, innocent as the summer sky.

"Why, nothing, darling."

"I thought so."

"Cow."

"Draco, would you shut up?" I laughed, and turned to Ginny with a sigh. "Good-bye, Ginny. I'll miss you."

"Not as much as I'll miss you," she grumbled as she hugged me good-bye. "Your replacement is a complete twit."

"Yeah, but your clients will be too busy staring at her rack to disagree with anything she's saying," I pointed out. "Seriously, though, give her some time. I think she's got a lot of potential."

"If you say so," Ginny said dubiously. "With any luck, she'll--"

Whatever sentiment Ginny wished to share with me was abruptly interrupted by what felt like an earthquake. Ginny and I were both thrown to the ground in a tangle of limbs. I shoved her off of me—her elbow was digging into my breast—and scrambled to my feet. When I saw what was before me I very nearly fainted.

Six black horses. A golden chariot. Hades with his scepter. He didn't have his helmet—obviously, or I wouldn't have been able to see him. I guess he felt better keeping it safe at home. Beside Hades stood a beautiful yet hard-faced woman. It was Nike, a goddess of justice and victory. She held Draco in her arms.

"Two years is not a sacrifice," Hades said simply, and disappeared.

With a wordless cry of fury, I hurled myself at the hole, but it had already closed up. I tore at the dirt and leaves of the forest floor, choking on sobs. Two years of tearing myself apart. Two years of running myself to the ground just so I could fall asleep at night. Two years of knowing that Draco despised me even as he loved me. Two fucking years of hating myself for doing what had to be done. I'd say it was a god-damned sacrifice.

"Ari, stop," Ginny said, tugging at my arm. I shook her off and kept digging. "_Ari_. Stop it! _Petrificus Totalus_!"

My body went stiff and rigid like a board. I couldn't move. I couldn't even speak. I glared balefully at Ginny. She was pale and the wand she held in her hand was shaking.

"I'll let you go as soon as you calm down," she said, her voice even. "You are not going to dig yourself into Tartarus. Are you calm?"

I glared harder.

"I'll pretend that was a yes," she said. "If you try to kill me, I _will_ Stupefy you."

Ginny took the spell off me and I slowly got to my feet, wiping away angry tears.

"Hermes!" I shrieked, and Ginny's wand arm twitched.

"Right here," he said gloomily, appearing by my side.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" I demanded, seething with fury.

"He's right," Hermes said helplessly. "Two years isn't much of a sacrifice."

"The hell it isn't," I yelled.

"Not to an immortal," Hermes shrugged.

"How do I get him back?"

"Come again?"

"I want my husband back," I snarled, getting right up in his face. "And you're going to tell me how."

"Because I love you and I want to make you feel better, I'll pretend that you're intimidating me," Hermes said, and gently pushed me back. "Look. Sweetie. Pumpkin. Hades demanded it, Zeus authorized it; it's done."

"Orpheus got Eurydice back," I argued. "Or he would have if he hadn't screwed up. I could--"

"Baby, I know you're good—but not that good," Hermes said, shaking his head. "Hades is much harder to impress than Cerberus."

"There has to be a way," I cried. "There has to be."

"Well..." Hermes hesitated. "Apollo is extremely fond of you. He's always bragging to all of us how bloody perfect you are. His little mortal mini-me. You could ask him to plead your case with Zeus. You'd have to go to him though. You can't drag him all the way from his palace and then ask him to defy his father for you. Bad form, you know."

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "Where do I find him?"

"East," he said, looking at me like I had just asked him what color the sky was.

"The world is round," I growled. "I'll just end up going around and around the world."

"Not for you," Hermes said seriously. "Sail east from Delos, following the dolphins. Follow the hawk to the snake. The snake will direct you to the griffin, who will carry you to Apollo's palace in the East."

"I don't suppose you could take me?" I asked dully. It was worth a shot.

"Are you kidding? Iris would kill me." Hermes sighed and rested his hands on my shoulders. "Ariadne, listen to me. Don't get you're hopes up. Believe me, we'll all do everything we can, but don't expect any miracles."

"I'm going to get him out, Hermes," I said defiantly.

"If you say so, kid," Hermes replied, and disappeared.

I turned to Ginny, who was staring at me with her mouth hanging open. I raised an eyebrow and she hastily shut her mouth.

"I take it you were speaking with a god?" she asked.

"Arguing with one, yes," I said. "Let's go."

"What? Where are we going?"

"We're going to find my cousin, Kallias," I said. "Then we're going to sail east and follow the birds and dolphins and snakes and orangutans or whatever. And we're going to get Draco back."

Ginny stared some more, then shook her head. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay," she snapped. "But we're not going to Greece yet. We're going to England."

"What the hell for?" I demanded.

"Backup," she said. "Sirius, because he's even more familiar with the underworld than you are, Harry because he's a Parslemouth, Hermione because she's the cleverest witch you'll ever find, and Ron because—well, because he'll whinge if he doesn't get to come."

"Ginny--"

"If you don't like it, you can get your own ride to Greece," she said, lifting her chin.

"Fine. _Fine._ Can we go, please?" I gritted. "God, I should have seen this coming."

"How could you have?"

"They're _Greek_ gods," I said disgustedly. "Let's go."

I took Ginny's arm and we disappeared. I felt like there was a monster in my stomach, clawing at my insides. Wait, I told it. You'll get your chance. But for now, just wait. When the time comes...I didn't care what it took. I would chase as many animals as I had to, argue with whatever finicky god necessary, and crawl to the ends of the earth on my hands and knees if that was required. But I _was_ going to get my husband back and we _were_ going to have a real wedding, damn it. And if Hades got in the way...well.

Hades was going down.

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Bwahahahahaha. Ha. ha. ha. And let me reiterate that... HAH!

okay, so here's the deal: I originally had it end when she says she's going to find Ginny (she also says "I'm going home") but then I realized that two years couldn't really be considered a sacrifice worthy of a thousand souls. And this leaves room for a sequel. Yay! This story took me about nine months to complete, so don't expect anything any time soon, but maybe put me on your alerts or something.

about making Just Perfect an original story...I've got it on the backburner. What I think I'm going to do is write the sequel, and then merge the two into an original story somehow. Because the whole point of _this _story was the Horcrux issue. So I need an original problem. I was thinking of maybe giving Ari a little sister and splitting up Ari's talents between them to sort of reduce the Mary-Sue effect and then maybe the sister could get kidnapped or something.

And speaking of the Mary Sue issue, I need to get this off my chest: Ari is Apollo's favorite. Apollo is the god of pretty much everything. Music, athletics, healing, ideal beauty--ringing any bells?--prophecy, logic and reason, light, the fine arts, archery. He is associated with excellence--winners of contests were crowned with laurel to honor him. Wolves, among other animals, were sacred to him. Maybe I should have worked it into the story more, but the outlets for Ari's perfectness were not chosen at random.

that being said, thank you all for your lovely reviews and see you when or if I get the sequel written.

shai


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